


Intra

by DoreyG



Category: Doctor Who, Horrible Histories
Genre: Adventure, Allusions to cannibalism, Boatloads of OCs who are all slightly gittish, Episode-fic, Fusion, Gen, Generally gen, I'm going to try and stop tagging now, It isn't encouraged though, That isn't at all kinky, Very long, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 11:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard III thinks that a coming battle at Bosworth, later to be known as Bosworth Field, is the most of his problems. But then, the night before the battle, he's accidentally kidnapped by a mysterious git called "the Doctor" and plunged (literally) into a whole new world containing a grumpy head policewomen, several mysterious disappearances and a cannibal lurking in the shadows. Will he ever get back home? Will he even survive the machinations of this strange new enviroment? And will he be able to <i>resist</i> punching the man who took him?</p>
<p>The world of Intra awaits...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bosworth

**Author's Note:**

> A Doctor Who/Horrible Histories fusion thing. Written for HHanon on LJ (http://hhanon.livejournal.com/) and somehow became over 30000 words along the way. Richard III is Richard III, the Doctor resembles Shakespeare but is still the Doctor (a grumpy version). I think that's it!

He’s probably going to do battle tomorrow.

It’s a slightly queasy feeling, a mildly terrifying one no matter how many times he’s drawn on his armour and charged into some bloody field. Tomorrow the two sides will meet, tomorrow the two sides will draw blood, tomorrow the two sides will try to _destroy_ each other-

…Tomorrow men will die.

He slips out of his tent into the cold night air. Takes a deep, almost steadying breath before sneaking across the grass – into the dark and away from the men that mutter so lowly around him (the many men, the less than loyal men as he suspects deep within his heart).

…Men will die tomorrow.

He sighs to himself, the summer air warm against his face.

…Men will die.

He sighs again, narrowly manages to hop over a log and sees the almost thankful (almost, even the animals seem against him these days) flash of a lizard’s tail a moment later.

… _Die_.

He dodges a moth, floating smugly in the warm air, continues tramping on with little sense of purpose or direction. Maybe he’ll pause at the edge of this field and then turn back, maybe he’ll march right into Henry’s camp and offer up his head on a platter, maybe he’ll keep on walking and walking until his legs fall out from under him, _maybe_ -

…Maybe he’ll do many things.

He _never_ wanted this, he dwells as he pauses by a tree for a moment – stares up at the moon with faintly hopeless eyes. Never really wanted men to die for him or a heated battle to defend his cause, never really wanted such suspicion and such a weight upon his head, _never_ really wanted to be facing his own end in a distant field with all the people that he’d ever loved completely lost to him.

…This never should’ve happened.

He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling faintly sick. Opens them the next and continues tramping on – over the muddy field where he’ll have to draw his sword the very next day.

His father should’ve never involved them in such a existence, should’ve never challenged Margaret of Anjou and got his whole family so embroiled in the dirty, awful business of being kings. 

Edward shouldn’t have died so early, shouldn’t have mysteriously popped his cogs when his children were _far_ too young to rule and gone up to that high and peaceful heaven. Shouldn’t have _abandoned_ him here, the only sensible adult male around and so the only one actually allowed to place the crown upon his head.

Anne shouldn’t have succumbed to her final illness, shouldn’t have left him. Left him all on his own.

…He halts, in the middle of the field this time. Tightly shuts his eyes for a dark moment.

There’s nobody left.

He lets out a dry sob under his breath, ignores the normal (and not so normal) nighttime noises that echo around him.

…There’s nothing left.

Another dry sob, those nighttime noises _still_ ignored no matter how grinding they are.

Nothing left at all.

A third dry sob, on the edge of actual tears this time over the building grind of a… Oh, a rabbit or something. He can _hardly_ find the energy to care at the moment.

…It’s only him.

He feels the tears prickling at the back of his eyes, ignores the faintly warm wind blowing in his face.

_Only_ him.

He sighs to himself, lowly. Lowers his chin right down to his chest… And then takes another step forwards, gulping back the tears as he _tries_ to move on (though there hardly seems any point anymore).

Only him, all on his own…

And he opens his eyes, still hopelessly, just to make sure that he doesn’t get himself tangled in a hedge and made an easy target for Henry and his damned Lancastrian army-

…No longer on his own.

“…What on-?”

“ _What_ ,” a voice snaps over him, a tall and skinny man bounding around the glowing thing in the centre simply to _glare_ , “are you doing in my TARDIS?”

…He may not be doing battle tomorrow after all.

 

\--

 

Half an hour later and things are still _no_ clearer.

“I don’t even understand how you got in here,” the strange man, the tall and skinny one still bouncing around the glowing thing in the centre, snaps – fingers jumping over buttons and levers and all the other terribly impossible things that make his head hurt, “she should’ve squashed you! Or crushed you! Or ground your fragile bones into the mud and left you there in a mass of blood!”

“…Thank you,” he mutters after a brief bit of consideration, still staring around him with remarkably wide eyes.

“ _How_?”

…Remarkably wide eyes.

Remarkably wide eyes that are _never_ going to narrow, really, so he might as well pick himself up and try to carry on! “ _I_ don’t know. I’m the one who’s been kidnapped – I have no clue of how I got here, why I got here or even where I _am_ … It’s quite distressing, really.”

The man, the _certainly_ strange man, glowers at him for a long second, “not as distressing as it is to me.”

He sighs, “still not the one who’s been kidnapped…”

“I am the one who’s found himself accidentally kidnapping people, though!” Comes the growled reply. Complete with a hand rubbing over the face, and a low sigh that is rather _grumpy_ considering that the strange man is the one in the wrong here, “Honestly, I thought I’d got past these impulses after Barbara and Ian…”

He blinks.

“…Who?”

“Nevermind!” Receives only a snap in reply, and a _bound_ as the strange man takes that as his mysterious cue to move _closer_ , “I didn’t even mean to kidnap you anyway. I’m on regeneration twelve now, the commonly known ‘grumpy’ regeneration, and I need no idiots fumbling around my TARDIS and disrupting my life! Got it?”

“…Yes.”

“Excellent.”

“And I agree with you, no person deserves to be in _your_ life,” he continues, a touch annoyed as the strange man (and he _wishes_ he had a name beyond that) continues balancing just a few breaths away from his face, “so why don’t you just put me back where you left me and leave us both to forget that this whole thing ever happened, yes?”

The strange man stares at him for a moment.

….He stares back, “well?”

“I can’t.”

…He _blinks_ , “What?”

“The TARDIS has already taken off again,” the strange man coughs briefly, already turning on his heel and leaping back to his strange glowy thing, “we’re currently far away from where she picked you up and I am _far_ too lazy to send her back there.”

He blinks for another moment.

…Stares for a while.

Softly clears his throat after at least a minute of silent contemplation (he can’t get home, _great_ , he can’t get home!) “…Lazy or actually incapable?”

That, at least, gets him a _glare_ , “lazy!”

“Of course,” and answers all his questions, for _he’s_ seen that look before – it often shows up around royalty, “And also too lazy to answer rather pressing questions, I suppose?”

A pause, as the strange man thinks this over, “Yep!”

“I’m going to ask them anyway…”

“Good, I hope you start a happy home with your foolishness and have several extremely stupid children!”

“I will, and I’ll name one Strange Lazy Man in honour of you,” he sighs, definitely a touch wearily, and takes his own step up into the centre “…You keep referring to something called the ‘TARDIS,’ something called the ‘TARDIS’ that is apparently female. Is she your invisible wife or imaginary friend or-?”

Ah, _another_ one of those absolutely sizzling glares! “She’s all around you, you _idiot_.”

“…Pardon?”

“The TARDIS is my _ship_ ,” the strange man huffs, waving his hand at the glowy thing and the strange arches and the whole strangely beautiful world humming contentedly around them, “and a very sexy ship at that. Her name stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space.”

…It’s a mouthful, he’s willing to believe that much at the moment, “which means?”

The strange man huffs _again_ , it seems to be practically one of his hobbies, “that she can _travel_ in time, and space.”

Ah.

…Oh.

He frowns, steps fully into the centre and frowns at the flashing buttons laid out before him – like so many pretty stars, “you mean that you can travel into the past with her?”

“And the future, for when the past gets boring,” the strange man _drawls_ , for a bit of variety – edging around to run possessive hands over his very strange (beautiful) console thing, “and also other planets, for when humanity _utterly_ disgusts me. She’s a very versatile old girl.”

“…She sounds it,” he admits, slightly charmed despite himself (despite _everything_ ), “how long have you had her?”

“Ran away with her when I was just a boy.”

“Which was how many years ago…?”

“Six hundred,” the strange man _chirps_ … In an entirely casual way considering the information that he’s just thrown wildly into the world, “give or take a few years – I know I look a lot younger but that’s because I follow an _exhaustive_ beauty regime that involves me bursting into flames every time I find a spot or plummet off a radio tower to my inevitable death.”

…He gawps.

“…Any reaction beyond that?”

He gawps and _speaks_ , for he’s always been remarkably good at multitasking, “you’re telling me that you’re over six hundred years old?”

“Yes!” The strange man nods, patronizingly – like he’s a toddler that’s just learned it’s first word (‘sir,’ and wasn’t _that_ a good start) “…Probably a lot older than that, actually. Two regenerations ago I was proudly bounding around and declaring myself to be around nine hundred. Before that? Well, let’s just say that a millennium or two was involved.”

He gawps and speaks and _splutters_ , for that multitasking skill _never_ goes away, “that’s impossible.”

“No it’s not,” the strange man smirks smugly.

“It really is.”

“It really isn’t.”

“You’re telling me that you may have lived for a thousand years?”

“Two thousand years, if you’d been listening properly.”

“Even more impossible,” he says, absolutely flatly because that _deserves_ absolute flatness, “I mean – what would you even _call_ a man that’s over two thousand years old?”

“The Doctor,” the strange- The Doctor smiles innocently, like a baby on a summer’s day – or the antichrist standing before a burning church, “or John Smith… Or William Shakespeare, if you’re in a creative sort of mood. But that’s only a name that I’m playing with and so _might_ not be appropriate for the very first meeting.”

…He-

Well, the gawping should just be taken as _said_ by now. It’s best to focus firmly on the lip biting instead “…I still don’t believe you, you know.”

“Wonderful.”

“And think that you’re a tiny bit insane.”

“Excellent.”

“And am only willing to believe that this isn’t a drug trip brought on by Henry Tudor because this ship is somehow soothing.”

“Brilliant!” A pause, as the Doctor appears to give that a deep and profound amount of thought “…No, wait, wrong regeneration. Did you just say Henry Tudor?”

“…Yes?”

“ _Which_ Henry Tudor?”

“There’s only one, isn’t there?” he frowns, as the Doctor advances towards him again until they’re practically pressed together (a few personal space issues, but at least the man isn’t clutching a sword), “the one who’s trying to take my crown? Who’s attempting to raise the country against me? Who’s generally gathering himself a reputation as a bit of a git?”

…The Doctor is staring at him again.

“What?”

“You,” the Doctor is speaking slowly, with a _touch_ of creepy fascination, “are Richard the third, aren’t you?”

“…Yes?”

…Great, and now the Doctor is smirking – an expression that can only make this whole bizarre situation just that little bit better, “My. I appear to have the hunch-backed, throne usurping, wine drowning, nephew murdering _king_ of kings in my very TARDIS!”

Oh.

“Fancy oppressing some people?”

Oh.

“Drinking some wine?”

_Oh_.

“Murdering some defenceless children…?”

“ _Oh_ , for heaven’s-” And he’s _glaring_ at the man, hands clenched into fists and teeth damn well _grinding_ , “can I just say that you know absolutely _no_ proper history, even if you can travel in time!”

“That wasn’t a question…” Says the still smirking Doctor.

“I don’t _care_ ,” he points his finger right into that face anyway, and _keeps_ it there until the vicious glee fades just a little bit, “I have no hunched back, as you can see. My nephews were too young to rule, and taking such a troublesome burden away from them was actually a _kindness_. I never drowned my brother in a massive vat of wine, because _nobody_ sane executes people like that. And I would _never_ murder my family members in such a way, no matter how many other sins I may or may not have committed!”

…And now the Doctor is looking at him curiously.

It’s something, “then what…?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he huffs (the Doctor must be rubbing off on him, a great pity), and sharply lowers his finger, “what does matter is the present, and the company we’re forced to keep in it.”

“…I suppose.”

“You don’t like me, I’m not all that keen on you,” he continues, lowering his hand back to his side (and back into a fist), “and so it would seem _sensible_ to try and get me home as quickly as possible, mm?”

“…If I-“

“Can?”

“-Can _overcome_ my natural laziness.”

“Excellent,” he sniffs, pleased by that, and _shoves_ his fists behind his back before they can do any ill-advised damage, “now, until that point I suggest that we try to keep out of each others way as much as possible – to avoid any unnecessary stress. I assume that there are more rooms than this?”

“Do you? The Doctor asks sullenly.

“It _is_ a ship.”

“…More rooms than you could ever wish for, Richie boy.”

“Only my friends call me Richie, and you are _not_ my friend,” he sighs, lowly but _finally_ managing to unclench his fists to it, “am I allowed to wander these halls until you find a way to get me back to where I’m supposed to be?”

The Doctor grunts, _ever_ so sulkily.

“ _Doctor_.”

“ _Fine_ ,” and huffs, like a spoilt five year old having a fairly embarrassing tantrum, “you may go wherever you like. Though I’d watch out for the wolf room, and the snake field, and the greenhouse where I keep my monstrous roses from taking over the universe.”

…Well.

“…Okay,” he blinks, and backs a step away – already prepared to go no matter how many wolves or snakes or monstrous roses are waiting ahead of him, “thank you. I’ll see you when we finally get back to where I’m supposed to be.”

“I look forward to it.”

“No you don’t,” he sighs, already heading for the stairs at a healthy trot.

 

\--

 

As it turns out the Doctor, and that is a _strange_ name now that he properly thinks about it, really wasn’t lying – there are seemingly a thousand rooms in this thing. A million. A _billion_ if he’s going to be overdramatic (which he rarely is, so should stop that right _now_ ).

Every door he opens seems to lead to a new wonder…:

A peaceful garden where mechanical butterflies flutter in so many shades – a place where he spends half an hour, just sitting and staring in awe as the peaceful things swirl around him and flash with such _joy_.

A large wardrobe where he strips from his old rags (really, he can’t deny that) to try on some amazingly strange looking clothes – turns around to find his armour mysteriously gone, leaving him trapped in rough denim and a big jumper that he can’t quite help but snuggle into.

An amazing greenhouse… Which the Doctor told him about, actually, and so is quickly fled from – not before one killer rose had shot a thorn right at his head, of course, but that could _hardly_ be helped.

So many wonders. Definitely a thousand, definitely a million, _possibly_ even a billion.

So _many_ -

…And now he’s standing here.

In front of another door, old and wooden and looking rather impressive where it’s set into the softly humming white wall.

He glances around for a moment, brushes a golden leaf from his hair.

Glances around for another moment, wonders if he should’ve taken that absurdly colourful scarf for something to provide as a distraction.

Glances around for _yet_ another moment…

And then shoves at the heavy door, heaving with all his strength until it falls open and admits him into… A library. Quiet, old, solemn, smelling of ink and paper in a way that can _only_ attract the minds of all sensible people.

He takes an awestruck step in, another awestruck step… Jumps a little as the door slams shut behind him but is already captivated and so _soon_ manages to recover. For now he also has a thousand books, a million pages, _certainly_ a billion words to read and absorb and adore in a way that always had Edward shaking his head and smirking.

…He sort of wishes that Edward was here with him.

He _soon_ casts that aside, as he hurries towards the first bookcase and reads the spines at a high and bouncy speed: _The Anatomy of the Lungworms of Venus-Atraxi_ , _The Life-Cycle of the Spore Fly_ , _A Thousand Things To Do with a Great Cactus_ … And so on. All with yellowing pages, all obviously read a fair amount by a certain person (and he wouldn’t have thought that person so intelligent, but it’s an alright surprise).

The biology section is quickly moved along: complete with laughter, frowning and occasional interest over gleaming red covers that tend to contain rather explicit diagrams that Anne would’ve laughed over for _weeks_.

He frowns a little at the thought of Anne… Quickly turns the corner to the alien history section and is soon smiling again. For how could anybody not, after all? _The Highly Interesting History of Peladon_ glints temptingly from the highest shelf, _The Highly Boring History of Peladon_ glints rather less temptingly from a slightly lower one, _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Tara_ lurks right at the bottom…

He’s always liked an underdog. And so slips the heavily, and grumpily, scrawled on _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Tara_ from the bottom and carries it away! To reading grounds! To a nice comfy chair-!

…To a stop.

Right in front of a bookshelf messily given the title of ‘Human History.’

…There’s a book with his name on it there.

Not a big book, not a shiny book, not even a particularly loud book. Just a quiet one, lurking on the shelves like it was just waiting for somebody to look past the loud volumes around it and decide that _it_ needed liberation instead.

He stares for a second.

…Stares at that book on Tara for another.

And then turns on his heel and trots back to the alien history shelves. Is back in front of _his_ (it’s about him, shouldn’t it be owned by him?) Book temptingly on the shelf a moment later. Staring at it, _staring_ at it.

…He gulps to himself, softly.

Ever so softly.

Reaches out a hand to grab the top of the book and slide it out-

“Richie!”

Immediately lets it _thud_ back into the shelf and innocently spins around. Like he wasn’t just about to steal a book on him, or see what people judged him as in the future, or even look up just _how_ the battle turned out “…I thought I told you not to _call_ me that.”

“I know, I know,” the Doctor _sniffs_ , striding through the library like he _owns_ it (…Which he sort of does, making that not work so well as an insult), “because we’re not friends and never were friends and never have a chance of being friends since I’ve just come to tell you that we’ve landed, Hurrah!”

…He blinks, “landed?”

“Yup.”

“So I can go home?”

“Yup!”

“And we never _ever_ have to attempt to be friends?”

“Exactly!” The Doctor _beams_ , turns on his heel and starts marching away again with all the flair of a born drama-queen, “so come on, loser, we’re going dropping!”

…He gawps.

Smiles to himself, _trying_ to push down the sense that things can never be this easy, and chases after the Doctor – happily bouncing on every single step.

…But of course things can never be that easy. It’s the way of the universe, after all.

 

\--

 

“So!” The Doctor cries when they get back to the main room, spinning around the glowy-centre thing (not a technical name, he’s sure) one final time before bounding _chirpily_ for the door, “Bosworth field, then?”

“Indeed,” he nods hopefully, following at a fair trot himself… The denim and jumper will be a bit awkward, granted, but he has spare armour in his tent and so if he can be _sneaky_ (not necessarily guaranteed, granted) he should be absolutely and utterly _fine_ , “1485.”

“22nd of August,” the Doctor mutters, grabbing a rather _loud_ jacket from the side and slinging it over his plain black clothes, “I _know_.”

“…Do you?”

“Of course, terribly famous day, dear Richie!”

“…Don’t call me that,” he only sighs, edges to stand besides the Doctor as the man bounces back to lay his hand upon the door, “and try not to kidnap any other people after I’m gone, alright?”

“I _won’t_ -“

“Not a single one.”

“ _Fine_.”

“And certainly not me again-“

“Oh, I certainly won’t kidnap _you_ again, don’t worry,” the Doctor snaps, like the sulky five year old he obviously is, and lowers his hand to the rather unimpressive handle “…Ready?” 

He doesn’t gulp, doesn’t shudder, doesn’t shake… Only frowns a little, as one final thought occurs to him, “are you sure that we’re at Bosworth?”

“Yes,” The Doctor only snaps, turning the handle down.

“Utterly sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” The Doctor only sighs, starting to push the door open so that a spear of green (…green?) light falls sharply between them.

“Utterly and completely sure-?”

“ _Yes_!” The Doctor yells, turning the handle down fully and _throwing_ the door open to the glorious world outside, “now, I’d suggest you _stop_ whining and get on with-“

…He’s gawping instead.

The Doctor pauses at his expression, frowns for a long moment and then slowly turns to study the steamy, misty, very green _jungle_ lurking just outside the doors of the TARDIS.

“…Well,” he says eventually, leaning back against one of the railings with a certain quiet sort of desperation.

“Yes,” the Doctor seconds quietly, _almost_ guiltily but not _quite_ as he slowly pokes his head out of the TARDIS to examine the teeming, steaming, very _peaceful_ world waiting patiently for them “…This isn’t Bosworth Field.”

“No,” he nods weakly, watching as one of the trees seems to arrange its hanging vines in a slightly prettier fashion, “far fewer tents, and people, and weapons that could lead to a lot of bloodloss.”

“You never know…”

“ _Thanks_.”

“Oh, stop _whining_ ,” the Doctor doesn’t even seem to register his glare. Is, instead, actively _beaming_ as he takes one slow step into the mulch outside and then one full _bounce_ into the middle of the clearing, “it may not be Bosworth Field, mucky little place that that is, but it’s still _a_ place. And a very attractive one at that…”

“I’m sure the place- jungle- _wherever_ is very flattered,” he squeaks, does not at _all_ take a slow step after the Doctor until he’s standing right in the doorway, “but you promised to get me home.”

“I _will_ get you home.”

“When?”

“At _some_ point,” the Doctor turns back to look at him, rolls his eyes like this is simple _silliness_ and not at all an urge to _get back to the proper place and time_ , “honestly, I’d swear that you’ve never experienced an adventurous urge in your life – haven’t you ever watched a sunset? Got into an unwinnable fight? Dreamed of riding for the horizon and having a thousand adventures along the way?”

…He bites his lip.

“ _Ah_.”

“Shut up,” he _hisses_ , hesitates over that final step (even if, even _if_ , it’s already been taken in his mind) for one last second “…What about my country?”

“I can take you back to exactly the same place,” the Doctor only sighs calmly, with a slow roll of his eyes.

“My army?”

“Exactly the same time.”

“…My _life_ -?”

“ _Richard_ ,” the Doctor tuts, steps back towards him with a certain glint in those brown eyes – a certain glint that speaks of adventure and running and doing things simply because he can, “you can either stay in the TARDIS and mope or come with me and have the time of your life, it’s entirely your decision in every single way.”

He-

…He hesitates for a moment.

Frowns for another.

Shifts nervously with his hands…

Steps out of the door and into the mud - gaping slightly when his feet sink in, yes, but actually _laughing_ when the sounds of the jungle flow in around him in all their loud, fluttering, chirping, humming _glory_.

“Told you so,” the Doctor laughs, stepping back and spinning around to survey the land around them.

“This is- this _is_ -!” He gawps, grins, _laughs_ \- spins around to take in the entire teeming world actually _flourishing_ around them (in such a pretty way)… And stops, goes right back to gawping within a second, “it-it’s bigger on the inside!”

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock,” the Doctor only sneers, and actually _grabs_ ahold of his arm, “now come on, I think I saw some _lemurs_ over there!”

“But _how_ can it be bigger on the inside?”

“Time Lord technology!” The Doctor yells back over his shoulder, bounding through the foliage like a man on some kind of _utterly_ demented mission, “very boring, really, but then that goes for the entire species – the best thing about them was their pimping robes.”

“…Right.”

“And they were _very_ pimping.”

“ _Right_ ,” he mutters, and barely manages to jump over a fallen log in his quest to catch up, “you’re one of these incredibly boring ‘Time Lords’, then?”

“Yep!” The Doctor actually sends him a _grin_ , somehow the utter greenness of the forest absolutely _fails_ to make that any less creepy, “the last of the Time Lords, in fact. A title that I used to angst about, when I was back on number Ten and the _tiniest_ bit made up of tears and pain, but that I now _revel_ in.”

“…Because of the boringness?”

“ _Yes_.”

“…Right,” he says again, since it seems a rather appropriate turn of phrase, as he scuttles easily under a low hanging branch, “how can you be the _last_ of these ‘Time Lords’?”

“I just am.”

“Isn’t that technically impossible-?”

“Not after the great and dramatic and very pointless Time War,” the Doctor says, in sighingly dramatic tones, and then _snorts_ as he casually kicks a log aside, “when my people, the Time Lords, faced off against the evil Daleks and committed a double genocide to bring an end to the fighting… Except not really, since Daleks are like cockroaches.”

“…Okay.”

“And _always_ come back.”

“ _Okay_ ,” he sighs, briefly comes to a halt on a remarkably clear looking piece of ground as the Doctor stares around like a five year old in an armoury, “you have no home to go back to, then?”

A long pause.

“…I have my TARDIS,” and the Doctor bounds off again! The vines soon hiding his face as he moves deeper and deeper into the steadily more impenetrable jungle.

He sighs for a second.

Rubs his hand over his face for another…

_Pauses_ , and slowly glances up as a slow creeping sensation starts to crawl up the back of his neck – the same creeping sensation that he feels before every battle when the opposing leader looks him over like a piece of meat.

He glances around once.

Twice, as the shadows underneath the trees appear to grow longer.

Thrice, as he swears he hears the steady crack of footsteps behind him…

And then he moves on, scrambling over a particularly big log and after the practically _jogging_ Doctor with all the speed that he possesses (quite a lot, actually, nobody would expect it from him but he can actually outrun almost anybody if needs be).

“Oh,” the Doctor sniffs when he catches up, studiously looking not the _slightest_ bit concerned, “I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet,” he huffs, jogging back into a comfortable stroll, “no.”

“I could _tell_ that.”

“I thought you might need _reminding_ ” …He sighs to himself, briefly closes his eyes and _barely_ avoids slamming into a tree as a result, “you have the TARDIS as a home, yes, and a very nice home at that – but do you have any people to share it with?”

The Doctor tenses for a long moment, an _obvious_ one as he brushes past a remarkably green bush, “what on earth do you mean?”

“Any… Partners?”

“I don’t need partners, partners get in your way and break your heart and do stupid things like getting trapped in libraries for eternity,” the Doctor only sniffs, _haughtily_ , and continues striding on like nothing else matters, “besides, do _you_ have any partners?”

He remembers Anne. With her red hair and sparkling eyes and tiny little giggle every single time that he kissed her “…Not anymore, no.”

A long pause, as they continue strolling along.

“…But what about family?”

“I also don’t need _family_ , always meddling and screeching about your life choices and running off to get married to strange people,” the Doctor sniffs _again_ , still slightly haughty, and shoves aside a branch like it’s personally offended him, “besides, do _you_ have any family either?”

He remembers Edward. With his loud laugh and many bad decisions and pleased smile whenever he actually did something _right_ “…Not anymore, no. Again.”

Another pause as they still continue strolling along, a little slower now.

“…Friends?”

“Who in the universe needs _friends_? Always going off to have their own adventures and their own lives and their own families and their own existences and-” The Doctor comes to a brief halt, closes his eyes for a moment and then swiftly moves on “…Besides, I _know_ that you have no friends of your own.”

He remembers back home, with so many men that’d rather stab him in the back then actually enter into one single civil conversation with him “…Not at all, no.”

And they continue strolling along.

…Now in silence, utter and complete.

Until, just as he’s opening his mouth again (of _course_ ), the Doctor trips over as they enter a mysteriously clear patch – and glowing screens taller than the both of them _immediately_ spring up in an impenetrable, threatening, _highly_ not-at-all good wall.

He spins around, hurriedly.

Gawps at the things around them, hurriedly.

Takes a step forwards, _hurriedly_ -

“Richard!”

…Halts, slowly, as the Doctor pushes himself up from the dirt and slowly rises to his feet (with a few wobbles along the way, of course), “they’re laser walls, you touch them and you’ll immediately be disintegrated.”

He blinks for a moment.

“…Well,” stares at the wall, as the Doctor comes up alongside him and starts frowning like he’s trying to work out some sort of fascinating puzzle (hopefully one not _actually_ involving his death), “that’s rather incredibly nice. Exactly what I want to be doing on a perfectly ordinary August day when I _should_ be fighting a battle to keep my kingdom.”

And the Doctor only _grunts_ , as he kneels down in the muck.

… _Extra_ fun.

 

\--

 

Aferdita Dagfinn was _not_ having a good day.

The moment that she’d risen in the morning, at dawn as was right and _decent_ , she’d already found her husband sitting in his study – shuffling through his papers and generally looking like the utter _pig_ that he usually was.

“Ah, darling,” he’d said, barely glancing up at her in the doorway, “fetch me some coffee, would you?”

She’d stared at him for a moment, to see if he was serious.

And then had thrown one of her night slippers at his head and stormed off, to make her own coffee and her own toast and absolutely _nothing_ else (certainly nothing to feed _that_ utterly insensitive ruler of twits).

And the moment that she’d entered work, the old police station in the centre of the town, any hopes of improvement had been _immediately_ dashed. Within seconds of signing in at the front desk two of the recruits, young and actually _bouncy_ with it, had slammed hard into her side.

“Sorry, Mrs Dagfinn!” Aurore had yelled brightly over her shoulder, already shooting off again.

“Sorry, Mrs Dagfinn,” Hina had seconded, but only briefly before her face transformed into a frown and she downright _sprinted_ after her friend, “she did steal my helmet, though!”

…She’d sighed.

Got to her feet, brushed herself down, given the receptionist a _firmly_ censoring glance and stormed on again – off to the peaceful environments of her rather secluded office.

…The rather secluded office, finely furnished with her _own_ money, that’d had _no_ coffee in it.

“All out, I’m afraid,” Mr. Behrooz had sighed when she’d called him up to demand an answer to that _horrific_ (Aferdita Dagfinn was a woman who needed caffeine like she needed _air_ ) absence, “the next shipment is due tomorrow, until then I’m afraid you’re on your own.”

…She’d gritted her teeth.

Hung up the phone, fisted her hands and _passionately_ resisted the urge to punch her desk with all her strength (she would’ve had a dent in her desk and bruised fists, then, it would _not_ have been good).

…Aferdita Dagfinn was _not_ having a good day.

And, standing in front of the tripped energy cage with Aurore and Hina gawping behind her and two strange man staring in front of her, she has the terrible feeling that things are about to get a _lot_ worse.

“Hello!” The taller man speaks first – balding and bony and wearing a coat that may actually be a crime against nature, “I was wondering when you’d get here, do you know that we’ve been waiting for _hours_? That’s hardly the way to treat your guests, you know, and I bet you’re the sort that complains about never getting any-“

“Do you know that you’re not supposed to be here?” She interrupts wearily, resisting the urge to electrocute them both (it’s only a very vague urge, usually felt only around _extremely_ annoying people and husbands), “as indicated by the energy cage.”

“…Ah, and the _forcefield_ is definitely not a way to-“

“We call it a cage and you are _not_ my guests,” she interrupts again, a little more wearily this time – keeping her face straight instead of wrinkling it or rubbing at it or even slamming it against one of the nearby trees, “you are either citizens who have illegally wandered without their permits-“

“Citizens?” One of the _men_ interrupts this time. The shorter, plumper one with his wide blue eyes and _equally_ weary expression, “citizens of where?”

“…Alright, You aren’t citizens who have illegally wandered without your permits,” she sighs to herself, still refuses to bang her head against one of those mightily tempting trees, “which _means_ , by process of elimination, that you must be one of the cave dwellers.”

A long, less than reassuring pause.

“…Cave dwellers?” Asks the shorter one.

“I would _never_ dwell in a cave,” the taller one sneers at exactly the same time.

“They don’t _look_ like cave dwellers, Mrs. Dagfinn,” Aurore finishes slowly, at _exactly_ the same time as the other two, “they’re not quite… Monstrous enough-”

…She _sighs_ again.

“Monstrous-?”

“Well, I’m not. Not so sure about Richie here, but…”

“You are a _child_.”

“I am an _alien_.”

“Doesn’t stop you from being a child-“

“Shut up,” she sighs a third time, takes a step closer to that mightily tempting tree _just_ in case “…And stop reading so many horror books, Aurore, they’re bad for a person of your disposition.”

The taller man, not Richie, raises his eyebrows.

…She still charges on, “you may not know what you’re a citizen of and you may not look like cave dwellers, but you can _only_ be two things, gentlemen. You are either citizens of Abextra or living in the caves, there is absolutely _nothing_ else.”

A long pause.

…And they’re both frowning at her from behind the barrier, this really is shaping up to be absolutely _awful_ , “are you sure?”

“Certain.”

“Absolutely-?”

“ _Certain_.”

“Ah,” snaps the taller one, looking a little bit annoyed at her abrupt and grunted dismissal, “so I suppose there’s no room for casual wanderers in your world view?”

She stares at them for a moment.

…Can actually _feel_ Hina, always the louder one, gawping behind her, “nobody _wanders_ , sir! If you wander you end up getting taken into the caves, and _nobody_ wants a fate like-“

She holds up her hand, actually raises the other one to pinch the bridge of her nose as Hina comes to a tumbling halt “…Very few folk wander, Mr. Nobody, those who do tend to disappear and never ever be seen ever again. It is far safer to just stay in the city and get on with your life.”

Both of the men stare at her.

She stares calmly back, arching a slow eyebrow.

“…Really?” Richie asks eventually, looking faintly appalled over his natural weariness.

“Really.”

“Are you actually sure?”

“Incredibly sure, it’s the only thing that anybody gossips about in the centre.”

“A great mystery, then,” the taller one smirks a little, with a certain not-all-that-sensible shine in his dark eyes (she could give him a black eye to go with that, she muses briefly), “one that has never been solved and so is always talked about… Oh, I _love_ things like this!”

“Do you?” She asks flatly after a short bout of yet more staring.

“You are an _idiot_ -“ Richie mutters under his breath.

“Oh, _yes_!” The taller one, the arrogant one as she’s starting to gather by this point, grins with all the enthusiasm of a Tigris presented with a raw steak, “I’m the Doctor, I’m over a thousand years old, I’m _very_ fascinated with such things and I am here to help you solve all your problems with my extremely brilliant intellect! …So, are you going to let me out of this cage?”

…Yet more staring.

Almost _incredible_ amounts of staring, to be honest.

Almost _obscene_ amounts, as she turns on her heel to briefly check on the gawping expressions of Aurore and Hina…

And then turns back, raises her hand and clicks her fingers three times (in the special pattern, made up by her predecessor about forty years ago) to release the energy cage and send the two men stumbling back into the world proper.

“Ah!” Cries the arrogant Doctor, bounding forwards like some five year old, “fresh air! Rather splendid after all this time, I must admit. Now, where do you want me to-?”

“Aurore, Hina – prove yourself useful and cuff these two gentlemen,” she shakes her head wearily, sends Richie an almost sympathetic glance before turning on her heel and marching away, “I want to take them back to the station for further examination by people with a _lot_ more patience than me.”

“…Oh,” mutters the Doctor, as he’s imprisoned again.

“ _Idiot_ ,” sighs Richie, in a terribly resigned way.

 

\--

 

“You are an _idiot_.”

“You keep saying that.”

“That’s because it keeps being true.”

“Mm,” the Doctor nods vaguely, balancing up on one of the rather uncomfortable chairs and staring calmly out at the world outside, “they all seem very worried out there.”

“That’s nice,” he can only sigh mournfully. Continue pacing back and forth and back and forth and _back_ and- “honestly, _how_ did you think that that’d ever work? _How_ did you ever think that offering a miracle cure to all their problems would turn out well?”

“It’s worked before.”

“On other idiots like yourself?”

“On perfectly sensible people like _yourself_.”

“…Thanks,” he sighs again, crosses his arms as he comes to a brief halt in front of the bars, “it’s actually worked?”

“Sometimes.”

“ _How_?”

“Psychic paper. A good old authoritative presence,” the Doctor shrugs smoothly, continues staring like everything is _far_ more interesting out on the other side, “but it didn’t work this time.”

“I didn’t notice,” he says, flatly.

“Which means that it’s a _proper_ problem and that she’s starting to understand the full scale of it,” the Doctor pauses for a second, _continues_ staring out with his fingers tapping against the bars “…They really do seem extremely worried out there. Hurrying, gossiping, panicking.”

“…Maybe it’s your presence?” 

“What are you thinking?”

“That maybe it’s your presence?”

“No, you’re thinking something _other_ than that,” the Doctor grunts, briefly looks back at him like he’s being a _tiny_ bit of an idiot, “so you might as well share it with me, Richie, since we’ve got all day and we’ll be reduced to gossiping about curtains if you don’t.”

…He grumbles, under his breath – taps his foot slowly against the ground as he thinks things properly through, “maybe something has happened.”

“Like?”

“I don’t really know,” he shrugs, is rather surprised when the Doctor glances over his shoulder again and favours him with a glance that lasts for _more_ than a few seconds, “maybe something happened out there?”

The Doctor raises one eyebrow.

“…Something involving what Hina and Mrs. Dagfinn were talking about.”

And the Doctor nods.

And _leaps_ off his perch, across the room in a few strides of those long and gangly legs, “and what _were_ Hina and Mrs. Dagfinn talking about?”

He blinks for a moment, tries _desperately_ to remember… “Caves.”

“Cave dwellers,” the Doctor corrects, but with a certain impressed flash in his eyes that suggests he isn’t _completely_ scornful, “and from that we can assume that there are things that live in the caves – things that take people who venture too far outside the city.”

“Take them permanently, and make sure that they’re never seen again,” he nods, slowly – as a grin starts to break out across the Doctor’s face, “no wonder that they’re scared.”

“Fear of being taken, fear of their friends being taken, fear of the _unknown_ \- and they looked nervous enough to suggest that it happens often.”

“…Or has been happening more often lately?”

“Yes!”

“…You really are enjoying this, aren’t you?” He shakes his head when the Doctor fails to look guilty, sways back on his heels as he thinks things through yet again, “I suppose you have a plan to get out of here?”

The Doctor nods, also failing to look modest.

“…But you don’t want to.”

“Of course not! A mystery to solve, a plot to unravel, so many things coming together in brilliant ways…”

“So many people to help?” …The Doctor grinds to silence, stares at him with wide eyes. He decides to show mercy, just this once, and carry on anyway, “to be perfectly honest I don’t want to either. Do you also have a plan to find out what’s happening if we can somehow work our way into Mrs. Dagfinn’s graces?”

“Of course.”

“…Alright,” he nods, briefly, “of course?”

“I’m very smart.”

“And very arrogant.”

“So smart that arrogance is allowed.”

“Arrogance is never allowed no matter how smart you are.”

“Yes it is…”

“It really isn’t.”

“Is…”

“Isn’t.”

“ _Is_ …”

He’s opening his mouth to respond, quite hotly, when the door beeps open – is turning around in the next moment and watching Aurore enter as quietly and timidly as he possibly can.

The Doctor presses close to him, whispers in his ear as she steps up to the bars, “she has red eyes.”

He nods, just slightly as she slides the key in, “she’s been crying.”

“Didn’t she use to have a friend?”

…A few of the pieces click into place, quite suddenly, as she opens the door wide and clears her throat with all the shaky authority of an underling given a rather big job, “Mrs. Dagfinn wants to see you in her office now, immediately if at all possible.”

They both step forwards-

“Um, only the short one… If you please.”

…He bites back on a grumble, for he’s not _that_ short in the scheme of things, turns to give the Doctor one last glance as he steps towards the bars and the other man steps back with a narrowing of the eyes, “you better keep thinking on that second plan.”

And the Doctor’s eyes suddenly go wide…

But he’s already stepping out of the door with his hands held up, obediently following Aurore to wherever the mysterious Mrs. Dagfinn’s office may be.

 

\--

 

Richie, the shorter man since she _severely_ doubts that he actually wants to be called Richie, sits on the other side of the desk from her – awkwardly fiddling with his hands.

She takes a slow sip of her hot cup of water… Winces.

The man just keeps shifting with his hands.

…Right.

“Right!” She says stridently as a result, setting the cup firmly down and _banging_ against the table (in a way that makes dearest not-Richie _jump_ , and it really is very good that she’s largely beyond feeling guilt), “what’s your name?”

“…Richard,” the man, definitely not Richie but _Richard_ , mutters slowly – still sitting awkwardly bolt upright in his chair, “Richard the third, or Richard Plantagenet, or even Richard, Lieutenant of the North and Commander-in Chief against the Scots and hereditary Warden of the West Marches.”

…She stares at him for a long moment.

He looks back innocently, _still_ awkwardly (the man appears to be rather a ball of awkward) shifting.

“I’ve heard of none of those,” she eventually says, decidedly _flat_.

“Um, well, I’ve heard of nothing here?” Richard clears his throat, looks down at his awkward hands like they somehow hold the key to this whole rather confusing mess “…So, I suppose we’re sort of even.”

She considers this for a long moment “…Eh.”

Richard only smiles, _awkwardly_ , and continues to _shift_.

“…Alright, let’s move on,” leaving her to slump back into her chair, and tap her fingers irritably against the table (next to the cup of hot water, which really _won’t_ help anything), “age?”

“Thirty four,” he answers promptly.

“Really.”

“Yes!”

“…Huh,” she pauses, keeps tapping her fingers against the table in a thoughtful and _entirely_ justified manner.”

“…Same age as you-?”

“None of your business,” she snaps firmly, although she doesn’t _really_ care as long as she’s allowed to stay in her job, and moves speedily on yet again, “profession?”

Richard stares at her for a second, seems to be hesitating over something large and just _faintly_ stupid “…King?”

… _Very_ stupid, “no.”

“Erm.”

“There are _no_ kings.”

“Technically there are _two_ where I come from,” Richard mutters, a touch wearily like the fact has been jabbing him with needles for quite some time, “one actual and one unfortunately aspiring.”

“Impossible,” she says flatly – and considers, just briefly, getting up and going around the table and _shaking_ him until sense starts to come out, “no matter where you come from or how you were raised… Where do you come from, by the way?”

“Well, I was born in Fotheringhay Castle-“

“Never heard of it.”

“-In Northamptonshire-“

“Never heard of it!”

“-In England-“

“ _Never_ heard of it!” …She sighs, lowly to herself – takes another sip of that hot cup of water anyway (it doesn’t even taste reasonable, this has _not_ been a good day), “as far as I’m concerned you’re being either ridiculous or insane, and neither of those are very helpful in this investigation.”

“…My apologies.”

“Thank you, it’s _all_ your fault.”

“But I’m just as confused as you, believe me,” Richard continues anyway, with a low sigh of his own that almost perfectly mirrors hers “…Look. I was not expecting to end up here today, I was not expecting to break any laws today and I was not expecting to offend _anybody_ today. So, I’m sorry for doing all of those – but please believe me when I say that I honestly didn’t mean to.”

She-

…She frowns at him for a long second, as she slowly lowers her cup, “and your companion?”

“I get the impression that he tends to wander into these things fairly often,” Richard shakes his head wearily… But, surprisingly, not all that angrily, “but I’m also pretty sure that he means absolutely no harm – he honestly does want to help you.”

She-

…She does not hesitate for a second, not at all with her fingers drumming against the table, “we don’t need his help.”

“Don’t need any help at all?”

“No!” Another second that is not at all hesitating, not at all as she reluctantly thinks things over “…Maybe, at any rate.”

Richard nods understandingly.

“Besides,” and so she continues, raising her voice only a little (because yelling does no good, yelling only gets you laughed at and called irrational if the example of her _fine_ husband is anything to go by), “how can he help us? He’s just a madman that’s come out of nowhere and babbled arrogantly for several faintly embarrassing seconds.”

…A long second, as they look at each other.

“…What?”

“Erm…” Richard hesitates for a few seconds, and then sighs and actually _leans forward_ in his chair, “this is going to sound absolutely insane.”

“I’m used to that.”

“…But have you ever heard of space travel?”

…Well.

_Well_.

“…And time travel,” Richard continues hurriedly, as she leans back in her chair and hopes _desperately_ that her expression is unreadable, “space and time and relative dimensions, or something like that. He has a ship, as much as you can call her a ship, and I _know_ that that sounds impossible but-“

“But?”

“…But he did basically kidnap me in her,” Richard swallows, slowly – shits so that he’s clutching his hands in his lap yet again, “I was supposed to be doing battle today, defending my kingdom and all that. But instead I’m sitting here with you. And things could be worse, granted, but-“

“It’s not nice not being believed,” she interrupts softly, watches him for a few seconds until he slowly nods “…There are legends, I will admit. Of coming to this planet in giant spaceships, of settling here amongst all the bounty and deciding to build a truly great community.”

…Richard nods, encouragingly.

“But eventually, after a few years, people started to fight – and to question, and to generally try to ruin everything,” and so her fingers tap on the table, ever so calmly as she thinks back to the lessons of childhood drummed ever so sternly into her, “and then the cave dwellers came, and started to take those who wandered too far from the acceptable paths.”

A pause.

“…Is that the problem now?”

“…It was just a legend until recently,” she reluctantly admits, reaching for the cup of hot water on her desk and swiftly changing her mind (it _really_ won’t help), “a fairy story to tell the children – but in the last three years people have started to disappear, strange creatures have been glimpsed in the forest and-“

“And?”

“…The city, as expected, has been plunged into a state of panic,” she sighs to herself, half angrily under Richard’s steady eyes, “people always tend to fear what they don’t understand.”

Richard nods, slowly.

…Very slowly, “and it’s happened recently, hasn’t it? Somebody has been taken within the last hour?”

She blinks, _hard_ , “how do you-?”

“Aurore came in alone,” he waits for a second, eyes still on her as she slowly shuts her mouth and tilts her head, “now, I admit that I’ve only known you all for about an hour at most – but I got the impression that Hina and Aurore are pretty much constantly joined at the hip.”

She-

She…

She sighs, lowly – lifts up a hand to press against her forehead as Richard keeps sympathetically staring before her “…She was guarding the back, as you’ll remember. I turned around when we got back to the city and she’d disappeared.”

“Been taken?”

“What do you think?” …She bites back on her temper, even if Richard doesn’t look the slightest bit offended. Stares down at her free hand and _slowly_ unclenches it from the table, “I don’t know what’s going on, or why people are being taken or even who is taking them – but I know that it’s a problem, and I know that it needs to be stopped before any more innocent families suffer.”

And Richard-

…Richard nods, like he understands the terrible burden of having to look after so many and feeling guilt for every single one, “I know the Doctor is arrogant, and I know that he came out of nowhere and I _know_ that he’s a git – but he’s intelligent, and interested, and cares about people a hell of a lot more than he lets on.”

…She frowns, for a long moment, lowers her other hand from her head, “you honestly believe that you, and he, can help us?”

“Yes.”

“ _Honestly_?”

“Yes.”

…She stares at him, low and uncertain in her office as the threatening forest rustles only a few streets away.


	2. Abextra

“You call _this_ a library?”

He groans to himself, elbows the rather unimpressed looking ( _git_ ) Doctor in the side as Aferdita glares at him from the door.

“What?”

“Be polite.”

“I _am_ being polite.”

“… _How_ have you not got punched more often?”

“It’s an enviable skill, I know-“

“If you’re going to have sex _please_ do it on my husband’s desk, it’ll piss him off amazingly,” Aferdita interrupts, with all the world weariness of a woman who deals with idiots every single day of the week, “if you need anything else I suggest you tell me now before I decide to murder both of you instead.”

The Doctor pauses for a long moment, mid espousing his greatness.

“I could bury you under the Quercus tree…”

“Lovely, but I’m not Charles the second and don’t intend to be for a few generations yet,” the Doctor smirks, far from good-naturedly, turns on his heel with a faintly smug _bounce_ , “a few questions before you go, perhaps?”

“Go on,” Aferdita says, still wearily.

“How old are you?”

“Bog off.”

The Doctor’s smirk only grows at that, he half feels like burying his head in his hands and never _ever_ emerging, “expected that. Were you told the tales in childhood or-?”

“In childhood.”

“As with all tales.”

“Yes, as is _obvious_ ,” Aferdita only snaps, placing her hands upon her hips (and making him restrain applause, for that’d be terribly dumb and win praise from _nobody_ ), “my mother told them to me as a ‘keep good, girly’ sort of thing, her father told her, the line stretches ever backwards from there.”

The Doctor nods at that, only seeming the slightest bit insulted (good, for him), “how old is the story, then?”

“Ancient.”

“ _How_ ancient?”

“ _Ancient_.”

“Definitions of ‘ancient’ vary from species to species and person to person,” the Doctor sniffs, so snottily that the desire to bury his head comes _charging_ back, “humans, like Richie here, regard it as maybe two thousand years. Butterflies regard it as about a year. The people of Khamaerernebty Nine regard it as about a millennium. So, _define_ it.”

Aferdita’s jaw tightens for a long moment.

“…Eight hundred years.”

“Excellent!” And the Doctor _beams_ , though still not in an entirely nice way, “shall we date that as about the stage that your people came to settle on this planet?”

“You can if you wish-“

“I do wish,” the Doctor places his hands to his lips in a position that is almost prayer… Though, of course, he suspects that the man worships something _far_ more strange, “the primal fear of something lurking in the dark. Quite natural, really, almost to be expected. You call these cave dwellers monstrous?”

“Hina did,” Aferdita sighs, shaking her head just slightly, “I am less inclined to describe something that I’ve never seen and have little to no experience of.”

“Almost sensible.”

“Thank you, that’s the best compliment from a madman that I’ve ever received.”

The Doctor looks insulted for the briefest moment… Soon tucks it away, carries on with a bright bounce and a slight raising of his chin, “Hina’s disappeared, then?”

“…Yes.”

“The last in a long line of people?”

“A medium line of people, more accurately.”

“How many?”

“Thirty five in these last three years,” Aferdita tilts her head, watches the Doctor calmly (and steadily) as he arches his eyebrow _high_ at her, “that’s when it properly started with the things lurking in the night, folk panicking about monsters and people disappearing and never being found ever again.”

The Doctor nods at that, thoughtfully “…Sure it isn’t a serial killer?”

“Absolutely.”

“How can you be-?”

“Serial killers are insane, and usually like to _boast_ about their so called triumphs,” Aferdita sighs again, grumpier this time, “the people who have disappeared have _properly_ disappeared – no body parts left behind, no clothes, no ransoms demanded from the grieving families.”

A long pause.

“…Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Brilliant!” And the Doctor _beams_ , turning away and bouncing to the nearest bookcase with all the joy of a five year old presented with a brand new toy, “I think that’s all that I’ll be needing for the moment. I’ll do some extra research now and in the morning, when it’s properly light, we’ll go outside the city and see if we can find anything _creepy_.”

Aferdita glances across at him with a raised eyebrow, he can only mouth a faintly pathetic ‘sorry’ in reply.

“…Right, then,” and Aferdita only nods sympathetically, turns to the door and starts to march, “I’ll see you in the morning. If you need anything-“

“Tea?” The Doctor asks, absently from his shelf.

“-Get it yourselves or go without!” She only snaps over her shoulder, and exits at a speed that has him wincing as the door slams shut behind her.

A long moment of silence follows.

“…Idiot.”

“I _wish_ you would stop saying that, Richie.”

 

\--

 

“I do _wish_ that you’d stop wearing your work clothes to dinner.”

She halts, halfway through taking a bite of succulent gallus, to stare up despairingly – her hair still neatly back in a ponytail, her body still clothed in _comfortable_ things, “what?”

“It’s just a little untidy,” her husband sighs, with a little _sniff_ to suggest that his opinion actually matters.

She considers such a concept for a second.

…Nah.

“Terribly sorry for disappointing you,” mumbles instead, finishing off the gallus in a few rather grumpy gulps (as always around her husband, the _git_ ), “But I actually _like_ being untidy, I think it adds to the general atmosphere of the room.”

“Oh, ‘Dita,” the man sighs again, like some grand old patriarch who hasn’t been punched in the face quite enough, “must you always argue with me in this way?”

“Must you always condescend to me in that way?”

“I only mean the _best_ -“

“No, you mean to be a condescending git,” she says quite bluntly, and reaches out for more gallus as he dares to _glare_ (proving his condescending gittishness in _such_ a nice way), “who wants to control every part of me and disguises such awful behaviour under the guise of being polite.”

“Don’t be-“

“Sometimes _I_ wish I hadn’t gotten my job, you know,” she hums contentedly over him, glances up only briefly to catch the flash of male _outrage_ in his eyes, “because then I wouldn’t have had to marry _you_ and your disgusting principles, face and general existence.”

He glares for another _outraged_ second “…That’s a wish that we both _share_ , then.”

“Ooh,” she pulls a face, _delights_ in how it makes him barely repress a scowl, “good comeback – the best that I’ve ever heard, in fact. Add in a ‘your momma’ reference there and you’re right on the way to being truly _astounding_.”

…He only growls at that, returns to his soup.

She smirks to herself, returns to tearing strips off her gallus with all the enthusiasm of a wolf after a hunt.

“You know another thing that I wish?” The peace doesn’t last for long, though. As her husband, the _darling_ Mr. Helios Dagfinn, sets down his napkin pointedly and glares like he actually has something important to say, “I wish that you wouldn’t eat so messily, it’s hardly suitable for a woman of your position.”

“Person,” She corrects firmly, actually _speeding up_ her munching.

“Woman.”

“And why is it suitable for a man to do it and not a woman?” She waits for a second, _just_ to see him groping for an answer, smiles as she keeps on _tearing_ with a quite joyous amount of abandon, “just proves your gittishness, my dear. And personally I think that it’s very appropriate – shows that I’ve worked hard instead of sitting in a study, drinking whisky, looking at certain images and calling it work.”

“…I hate you.”

“The feeling is _mutual_.”

They return to their silent occupations: her feasting, him scraping his spoon slowly around the soup bowl like it’ll somehow make her a good-natured and entirely compliant wife.

“…Aferdita?”

“ _Yes_?”

“I really do _loathe_ you, you know.”

“You say it often enough, and I say it back with _gusto_ ,” she smiles sweetly, raising her head again to flash him a _mocking_ glance, “and do not doubt that I meant what I said when I say that I sometimes regret the necessities of my job. Such an awful thing – that custom _requires_ that the warden of the city wed the chief police officer.”

“I look forward to the day we can divorce.”

“So do I,” she smirks, it isn’t a nice smirk but nothing is around dearest Helios, “the day you leave office of your own volition – because I’m _certainly_ not leaving mine.”

“Even if-?”

“Even if I regret rising so high on some days,” she looks up, arches her eyebrow at him, “as it happens I actually _enjoy_ my job, and feel that I’m reasonably good at it.”

“…Even with the people disappearing recently?”

She pauses, angrily over her plate.

“And you having no clue where they’ve gone…?”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

She hates the git, hates him and his incredibly smug smirk and the way he sits across from her with his fingers in a terribly contented arch, “even that’s being fixed, actually.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he sneers at her for a long second… “What?”

“We’ve got a lead,” she takes _great_ pleasure in saying, steepling her fingers in turn as he actually starts _gawping_ (like a fish, and what a sweet sight that is), “or at least people who can get leads – apparently they’re very good, and might fix the problem and start getting people back incredibly soon.”

He gulps for a moment-

 _Stands_ , fast and shifty and mindless of her slightly puzzled blink at him, “they _can’t_.”

“They most certainly can,” she says after a few moments of staring, setting her last gallus bird down and frowning at him like he’s absolutely _insane_ (which he is, there’s no two ways about it), “why, are you _scared_ that such a big problem might be-?”

“It’s _impossible_ ,” he spits, gulping again and actually looking… Scared? “Absolutely impossible and you’re a fool for thinking it.”

“…Thanks.”

“Besides, it’s not in the-“

He halts.

She stares at him for a long, slow moment and then slowly shifts in her chair – crossing her legs and pursing her lips “…Not in the what?”

A long pause.

…A very long pause.

And then he draws himself up, sniffs _ever_ so haughtily – turns on his heel and settles his dark clothes around himself like the very _coolest_ dweller of the night, “I’ll see you later, ‘Dita. I hope you choke on a chicken bone and I get to take a new partner in life.”

“Git-“

“ _Bye_!”

“I hope you fall down the stairs!” She yells after him as he makes his grand exit…

And then slumps back into her chair, uncrosses her legs, steeples her fingers… _Frowns_ in such a helplessly puzzled way.

 

\--

 

“And this shows that… Richard?”

He groans in his chair, still uncomfortably half asleep – shifts with his cheek smooshed up against the expensive feeling arm.

“…Richard?”

He groans again, awkwardly manages to coil up into himself – it’s warm here, vaguely safe. Hardly like an alien planet at _all_.

“Richie…”

And that’s nice, really, for as much as he prides (not much, he’s never been one for pride like his terribly loud siblings) himself on being _utterly_ fine with all of this… He still wasn’t expecting to end up on a far distant planet with only a rather strange man for company and no ability to fight for the future of his country at _all_.

It’s not a nice feeling, truth be told.

Not a very secure one.

“Richie,” he feels more than hears the slow tread of footsteps in front of him, simply closes his eyes tighter and snuggles further into his little hole away from the rest of the world(s)… “ _Richie_.”

For he doesn’t have to fight here, after all. Or snap. Or call the Doctor an idiot. Or even be a person, if he’s perfectly honest.

It’s really quite, quite-

“… _Richie_!”

- _Terrifying_!

He starts out of his chair with a yelp, all briefly lost thoughts flying out of his head – stares up at the grinning Doctor who has _just_ managed to pull back to avoid a rather hasty (not to mention embarrassing) headbutt, “what?”

“You were sleeping,” the un-headbutted Doctor says, _still_ grinning.

“…Oh, sorry,” a grin that he studies for a moment, pulling himself upright in the chair and surreptitiously rubbing at his cheek (it’s going to have a strange red mark for people to point and laugh at, he just _knows_ it), “what?”

“You were _sleeping_ , and so I had nobody to be brilliant at,” the Doctor says pityingly, _finally_ moving back and picking up his (presumably) old book (not losing the grin, though, _never_ losing the grin), “honestly, do keep up – what are you even here for if it’s not to marvel at the wondrous existence of me?”

“…You kidnapped me.”

“Details.”

“I had no _choice_.”

“ _Details_ ,” the Doctor says airily, and flips open to his old page (marked by a ripped piece of paper… And he’s honestly, _honestly_ not sure if Aferdita’s going to be happy about that), “do you want to hear what I’ve discovered or not?”

…He actually considers that for a second. Because his head hurts, and the library is stuffy, and the book doesn’t look _that_ interesting, and a part of him just wants to go back to coiling up and ignoring everything.

…Still, “I suppose?”

“ _Excellent_ ,” the Doctor grins, and holds the book up in the manner of _all_ great readers of literature (he assumes, he’s always found it faintly twittish himself but if his mother did insist upon it…) “This colony was, indeed, colonized about eight hundred years ago.”

“…Yay?”

The Doctor briefly raises his head to arch an eyebrow at him.

“…The time that the legends started?”

“Indeed,” and the eyebrow goes down again (mercifully, it’s a rather stupid eyebrow), “it’s natural, I suppose: jumpy settlers on a new planet, big dark caves and death at every turn – legends around such things are _bound_ to spring up.”

“…That makes sense,” he hesitates for a second, places his hands on his knees and tries desperately to look just a little bit awake, “but is there any truth in the legends?”

“Now _that’s_ the interesting part,” the Doctor grins, as joyful as a doctor informing a mother of her healthy first child, taps his book in the manner of some professor, “this planet has no name nowadays, there’s no need since everybody _basically_ lives in Abextra, but back in the days when it was _settled_ it was known as Fraxinus.”

…He tries not to stare too blankly, “yes?”

“Fraxinus: a planet that some of your people, a particularly lovely offshoot, basically rid of its inhabitants in 2900,” there’s a short pause, as the Doctor’s eyes grow dark, “lovely folk, a pity I never got the chance to punch them.”

…And he’s seen that look before.

And so he’s keen to hurry on from it, because he knows _exactly_ what it feels like and he refuses to let that taste lie in anybody else’s mouth “…But did some hide in the caves?”

“No, they made _extra_ sure to clear the caves,” a long pause, the Doctor’s eyes grow slightly lighter again (something to be relieved about, even if the man _is_ a git) “…It’s an odd thing, isn’t it? This planet should’ve been absolutely empty when they arrived, which means that there should be no ‘others’ even now.”

He nods to himself.

…Very slowly, “is there any evidence of any other settlers arriving?”

“Nope.”

“Not even in the last three years?”

“None at _all_ ,” the Doctor pauses, runs an absent hand through his hair in angry thought, “in fact _nothing_ seems to have happened in the last three years. Not even a change of the politicians – the unseen Mr. Dagfinn came to power six years ago, the lovely Aferdita came to power a year later.”

…He frowns.

“Odd?”

“Mm.”

“Very odd.”

“Very, _very_ odd,” he agrees, wrinkling his forehead and gripping his knees all the tighter (not in another vague attempt to stay awake, not at _all_ ), “you think something would’ve changed to start all this. Or that there’d at least be evidence of a sinister conspiracy spanning several hundred years.”

“But no,” the Doctor sighs, runs his hand through his hair again, “there’s absolutely _nothing_ … Well, not nothing. But something which I can’t work out which is _worse_ than nothing.”

“…You don’t like not knowing things, do you?”

“Do _you_?”

He prepares a retort for that, a sharp one just as he thinks things through…

Ends up _yawning_ instead, pressing a hand to his mouth and slowly forcing open his eyes afterwards.

The Doctor is staring at him “…That wasn’t a scornful yawn.”

“What do you expect?” he finds himself saying wearily, clenching his knees even harder to remind himself that dozing off is _not_ a sensible option, “I haven’t slept for about two days, and before that I was far too worried to get a good night. And in these past two days I’ve prepared for battle, worried about my death, been kidnapped, been taken to an alien planet, been briefly imprisoned and sat in an overly warm library.”

The Doctor stares at him for a few seconds.

“…Sorry,” something which, apparently, provokes a sigh – and another helpless yawn as he has to force his eyes open _again_ , “I’m just a bit exaughsted, that’s all.”

The Doctor thinks about that for a second… A miraculously merciful one, “you can go to sleep if you wish.”

“But I’m not sure if I do wish,” he sighs again, _forces_ himself up to his feet before the next yawn can come and tempt him yet again “…I want to try and help, even if that mainly consists of sitting here uselessly and watching you be puzzled by utterly unhelpful sources.”

That gets him a stare, lasting for _moments_ this time.

“…What?”

“You-“ the Doctor seems to change his mind halfway through what he’s saying, sets his book down carefully and turns back with a confident smile upon his face “…You could go for a walk? A bit of fresh air, and time away from this admittedly stuffy library, would probably do you the world of good.”

He frowns to himself for a second “…Are you sure?”

“As long as you don’t spend _hours_ …”

He smiles to himself for a second, tries his best to hide it for it’d do _no_ good (and would probably bolster the Doctor’s ego. Somehow. In a strange and arcane way), and steps slowly towards the door “…You’re not coming, then?”

“Still got research to do, but I can remember it all and babble at you when you come back,” the Doctor smiles, almost succeeding at making it look smug, and turns casually away again, “have a nice walk, Richie my boy.”

“Thanks” …And he leaves the library, an almost happy bounce to his step.

 

\--

 

The garden is big and luxurious and _very_ dark. The true blackness of a night without moon as he wonders over green (presumably) grass and vaguely squints at the big leaves that periodically block his way.

…The night is cold, though, so he can just about forgive that.

He’s on his own here in this garden, in the dark and cold. It’s peaceful as he walks, quiet in a way that it hasn’t really been for _ages_ (if he doesn’t count his wanderings down the corridors of the TARDIS). He finds himself peacefully stuffing his hands into his jeans, idly pausing to stare up at the night sky and softly smiling as gentle breezes (carrying scents of the forest-slash-jungle) drift across his face.

He’s almost happy here.

Peaceful.

Smiling.

 _Content_.

And he pauses yet again, to commemorate this. Smiles at a rather pretty flowerbed before him and sniffs delicately at the rich and wonderful smell wafting up… It’s rather captivating, really.

Wonderfully captivating…

 _Too_ captivating…

In his sleep deprived state, _so_ very sleep-deprived, he doesn’t see it coming – only hears the quick rustle of footsteps (slightly scratchy, as if they carry _claws_ ), the low rumble of a smug chuckle and-

And then his mouth is being covered. And he’s only left with the briefest impression of red eyes as he slumps to the ground.

 

\--

 

It’s seven o’clock in the morning.

She hasn’t had her first cup of tea, or warm water ( _whatever_ ), yet. She’s still in her nightgown (with trousers underneath). She’s most definitely asleep and struggling to keep her eyes open against the early sun.

It’s seven o’clock in the morning, and she’s standing in her garden.

The morning chorus is in its final stage, the imported birds chirping in an entirely enthusiastic way. The grass is green, warmly waiting as if predicting a truly _wonderful_ day. The entire world seems bathed in sharp sunlight that could make almost anybody happy.

It’s seven o’clock in the morning, and she’s standing in her garden and staring at heel marks upon a patch of mud.

They’re male heel marks, probably, for she’s the only female in the house and there would’ve been a slightly lighter impression left anyway. From a dead, hopefully not _literally_ , weight being dragged away. Still clear on the ground as if to suggest that the man was taken only a few hours ago.

…Ah.

It’s seven o’clock in the morning.

And already she’s turning on her heel, dragging her mind from sleep and marching back to the house at a rather determined pace.

 

\--

 

The Doctor glances up hopefully when she enters the library, soon sighs and returns to his book with a disappointed (and worried, to his _slight_ credit) expression, “oh, it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me – the one who freed you from prison and took you kindly into her house,” she comes to a halt by a desk now practically overflowing, the man’s obviously been _busy_ , with books on a seemingly unconnected range of subjects “…Where’s Richard?”

“Gone for a walk.”

…Ah.

 _Damn_.

She growls under her breath to herself, steps forwards and _knocks_ the book from his smug hands before he can even blink.

“Wha-?”

“Richard has been kidnapped,” _snarls_ , right into his smug face, and almost feels pleasure at the way his expression freezes, “ _again_. In the gardens, when he was on his walk. I don’t know who took him, or where they took him, or even when he was taken – but he’s _gone_.”

…The Doctor is starting to look slowly appalled.

“I just want to know,” she continues anyway, tossing the book to the side and _glaring_ her very best glare, “ _how_ you could’ve considered letting him go out alone a good idea-“

“He’s a grown man,” the Doctor mutters, slowly rising to his feet.

“You still shouldn’t have let him go out on his own-!”

“He’s a _soldier_.”

“…Seriously?” She frowns at his nod, briefly pauses and then shrugs and gets right back into it, “even so: you shouldn’t have separated, you shouldn’t have gone outside and you _shouldn’t_ have laid yourself open to such danger without telling a single person.”

“He was only going out in your garden,” the Doctor says, tone tight with something that is half rage and half worry, “I thought he’d be _safe_ -“

“ _Nowhere_ is safe!”

…They stare at each other for a second.

She slowly gets her breath back, unclenches her fists. He continues watching her, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“…Nowhere is safe?”

“…No,” she straightens, raises her chin firmly as he continues to narrow his eyes, “most people have been taken when they strayed outside, yes. But people have also been taken from the outskirts, the city centre and even the cells.”

The Doctor stares at her for a second.

“…Now you see why we’re so desperate.”

“Yes,” the Doctor slowly nods to himself, takes a step away and stares down at the books “…And now Richard’s been taken too, a man who only arrived on this planet yesterday and has so far done absolutely no harm to anybody on it.”

She hesitates for a long moment, slowly crossing her arms “…This just got personal?”

“Oh, Aferdita. It was _already_ personal,” the Doctor spins back around to face her, shoves his hands in his pockets and gives an _entirely_ determined nod, “but now it’s just a touch more urgent – fancy taking me outside the city for a little bit of sightseeing?”

…And she honestly cannot decide whether to be annoyed or admiring.


	3. Underground

His head aches.

Like, _really_ aches. Poundingpoundingpounding to the point where it definitely hurts to move and he barely feels like lifting his chin off his chest and _owwww_.

His eyes are heavy.

 _So_ heavy. Like somebody tied an anchor to them during the night, or stitched them shut, or just made them hurt to open as he summons all his strength to look awkwardly around the cave.

…He’s in a cave.

 _Drip drip drip_ goes a leak from somewhere above, the stone floor below is a uniform shade of dark grey that hardly looks anything other than not very nice, the stone wall behind him is rough against his back – cold even through his (torn, slightly torn, the Doctor will not be joyful) jumper.

…He’s tied to a stone wall.

And so is Hina, drugged out besides him – her head down to her chest, her black hair falling over her face, her eyes seemingly glued shut so they don’t move with dreams. They’re tied with ropes, harsh ropes made out of some sort of… Vegetable? Is that what It’s called? It certainly sounds accurate when he tugs briefly against them.

…His head aches.

And, even if there is a flash of red from the corner, and, even if he’s tied to a stone wall, and, even if he’s been kidnapped _again_ … He really just wants to sleep.

He closes his eyes.

 

\--

 

She stands in the middle of a clearing. Arms crossed, coat held tightly around her as she watches the Doctor move – first bending to examine one plant, then arching to rudely stare at another. First pausing to stare contemplatively at the sky, then dropping suddenly to crawl along the ground. First being annoying, then…

 _Well_.

The Doctor is a hopelessly annoying person, she’s _almost_ starting to accept that as he turns and gives her a rather narrow look.

“…What?”

“Are you sure that this is where the last person was taken from?”

“Besides Richard and Hina, yes,” she nods, sighs lightly as the Doctor hurriedly shoots down to contemplate the mud yet _again_ , “about two weeks ago. Though we rarely go out here and so didn’t realize for roughly five days.”

“Felt guilty about it afterwards?” The Doctor murmurs absently, _actually_ kneeling to ruin his far-too-fine trousers in the muck.

“What do _you_ think?”

…A pause.

And then the Doctor clears his throat and rises again, tucks _his_ coat around him and gives her a professional little smile, “name?”

“You know my name,” she says spikily… But hurries on at his arched eyebrow. Because she honestly tries not to be dumb, and she usually succeeds when her husband isn’t there to _infuriate_ her, “Alvis Svarog. Twenty nine, librarian, utterly boring but much missed by his family.”

“As expected,” the Doctor nods… And then, being himself and unable to stay still for long, strides over to some bushes. Starts to rustle through them as she looks on with a rather despairing eye, “I suppose he had no enemies upon this planet?”

“On the contrary, most of his colleagues loathed him for being so utterly boring,” she waits until he looks back at her, sighs again “…But we investigated all of them. And none are the type to go in for such a kidnapping.”

“Are you sure?”

“Two were work experience girls, one of sixteen and one of eighteen: Mr. Svarog was 6’4, neither of them could’ve subdued him or moved him even if they tried,” she says, very flatly as he absently turns back to his bush shuffling, “his boss was a sixty seven year old sufferer from asthma, so same problem there. And his other colleague hadn’t got so much as a parking ticket in his entire life.”

“Doesn’t mean that none of them _did_ it, though,” the Doctor mutters stubbornly, coming out of the other side of the bush with a stumble, “they could’ve got friends to do it, or been empowered by their utter rage, or just never been caught in the middle of a misdemeanour…”

“Do you honestly believe that?” She asks, _sharply_.

“…No,” and the Doctor turns back to her with a sigh, his hands tucked behind his back in a way that is almost businesslike, “I’m afraid that I don’t believe it at all.”

“Then don’t say stupid things,” she snaps – and finally moves, shifting a step closer to him and casting her eyes over the clearing yet again “…Have you found any clues?”

He makes a non-committal noise. As far as noises go it is _not_ the most lovely one (and does _not_ do its job of soothing her at _all_ ), “I trust that you processed the area.”

“To use a phrase unaccountably making a comeback in the younger generation: _duh_.”

“It’s good to see that you’re at least mildly good at your job,” he grumbles, in a way that almost makes her punch him… And then steps forward, throws himself down until he’s mysteriously kneeling in the mud yet again, “he was taken from this exact place, wasn’t he?”

“…Yes,” she gives, not at _all_ impressed, “attacked from behind while standing still. We found his book in one of the bushes over there. From that we assumed that he’d been reading while walking and lost track of where he was.”

“And he was the type?”

“Definitely, from the character witnesses we got.”

“So-?”

“There were no signs of a chase, and barely any signs of a panic or a struggle,” she shrugs simply, just as troubled by the evidence as he seems, “whatever took him subdued him quickly and then carried him away without anybody the wiser.”

“Carried him…?”

“There were no drag marks.”

“ _Ah_ ,” he nods, turns on his heel again and starts striding around the clearing – rather like a businessman trying to look pompously superior to everybody else while on his lunchbreak, “which suggests… Something strong, and possibly something with a full knowledge of pressure points.”

She remains silent.

“Pressure points…” As he pauses, and puts his hands under his chin in a way _clearly_ meant to signify some deeply smug thinking, “tell me: do you generally imagine raving beasts having a detailed knowledge of pressure points?”

“Hina called them beasts,” she says flatly, “not me.”

“Which would _suggest_ that they are far more than raving beasts…”

“I already thought that, like a vaguely intelligent person,” she waits, yet _again_ , until he briefly looks back to her – arches her eyebrow so high that she almost strains it, “no raving beast could kidnap so many people so cleanly. Such a thing would’ve been found and neutralized long before now.”

The Doctor is _staring_ “…Or would’ve at least left a few clues.”

“ _Exactly_ , and yet there has been nothing,” she crosses her arms tighter, widens her stance just a little as he continues to look, “now, do you have anything new for me or are you just going to continue striding around like a bit of an idiot?”

Aw, and now the Doctor is _glaring_.

…And, indeed, is again striding around like an idiot. Glory, beauty, _joy_. She bites her lip angrily, remains in place as he continues shuffling around the edges and _continues_ looking like one of those pompous businessmen that cower every time they see her (because she used to be in the habit of punching them for being gits back in school, _yeah_ ).

“Well-?” She asks eventually, at the _very_ end of her tether.

…And he hushes her.

She literally, and she is not misusing the word here – her hand actually twitches towards her gun for a moment, considers murdering the man and leaving his body under a bush to never be found… But no. That wouldn’t save Richard at all, “Doctor?”

He doesn’t _dare_ hush her this time.

“…Well?”

Only stands, slowly. And turns back to her with something, _something_ , tightly clutched in his hands.

…A piece of cloth.

“Do you recognize this?”

A _marked_ piece of cloth.

“Aferdita?”

“…Ah.”

 

\--

 

His head _still_ aches.

He groans, down into his chest. Vaguely, very vaguely, dangles for a moment before slowly attempting to pull his heavy head up (he is a soldier, he has faced _far_ worse) and survey his surroundings yet again.

…He’s still in a cave.

And water is still dripping, and the stone wall is still cold (although a little warmer now, considering that he’s probably been lying here for hours), and he’s still tied to a stone wall, and Hina is _still_ hanging besides him (although now with her eyes open, wide and a little bit terrified). The only change, in fact, is the woman standing in front of them-!

…Ah.

And she is _certainly_ a change.

Small, thin to the point of boniness with claws instead of fingernails. Pale skin, _very_ pale skin to the point of translucence. White hair cut short, close to her scalp. Eyes glinting red, like those of the monsters that he’s heard about in the fiercest of fairytales…

He _gulps_ …

(But he is a soldier and he has faced far worse) but gathers himself, draws as far up against the wall as he can and narrows his eyes, “who are you?”

The woman seems surprised for a second.

But soon gathers herself in turn, regards him with those darkly flashing eyes, “ _you_ have no right to ask questions.”

“Yes I do, I have every right despite you tying me to this wall,” he says, and does not shake at _all_ (no matter how much he wants to, no matter how scary she’s trying to be), “now, please tell me your name… Or I will keep asking until you do so out of pure frustration!”

…She frowns at him for a moment.

“Viola.”

And now is _scowling_. But he can hardly mind _that_ when he’s busy slowly tilting his head in confusion “…Um, that doesn’t sound like a very monsterly name.”

“Oh, but I _am_ a monster,” she strides right up close, shoves her face into his so that he can smell the _rot_ \- the sweetly awful smell of decomposing flesh and things that should be well buried under the earth, “a fearsome, terrible, _hungry_ one – and you would do well to _remember_ it.”

“…Erm,” he says, as politely as he possibly can (with somebody practically spitting in his face. It’s harder than it sounds and it already sounds pretty hard), “I don’t even _know_ it yet, I’m afraid.”

Hina is staring at him like he’s mad, Viola is simply scowling yet again.

“Because… I don’t know why you’ve taken me?”

“That’s simple enough to prove, then,” Viola places her hand… Claw (though it doesn’t look much like a claw, besides her nails) right next to his head, grinds it into the dirt ever so slowly, “I’ve taken you to _eat_ you, just as I’ve taken your little friend to eat _her_.”

“…Well, that’s pretty monstrous,” he gives, as Hina _gasps_ besides him, “but why are you doing it?”

He’s being stared at again.

“…It just seems a bit odd, that’s all.”

“I’m doing it because _I_ want to,” she snarls, quite simply as she _rips_ a stone from the wall (it’s a small stone, he notes absently, so no _unreasonable_ shows of strength), “is that a good enough reason for you, Mr. Questioner?”

“…Um, no? I’m afraid,” he takes in the slight widening of her eyes with some timidity, forces himself to go on despite all and _any_ expressions, “that isn’t really a good justification for anything – especially not something as big and life altering as cannibalism.”

“…Ugh,” she snarls after a few moments have gone past, removing her hand and the stone with it, “you sound just like my father.”

“Is he why you’re doing this, then?”

She looks a bit like she wants to _hit_ him.

(But he’s been hit by worse people) but he carries on anyway, lifting his chin just slightly in response to her red glare, “because, you know, the reason why I’m a soldier is because of my father dying in battle… Though I suppose that isn’t a very good example, considering that I never rebelled against him.”

“Shut up.”

“I think you’re rebelling against your father, though. Was he a vegetarian, by any chance-?”

“He was a monster, like-!”

“Shut _up_ ,” Viola snarls, over both him and Hina – glancing between them in a terribly angry way that’s quite impossible to ignore, “honestly, I’m _glad_ that both of you were pointed out to me-“

“…Pointed-?”

“-You’ll both be an absolute _joy_ to eat!”

“Pointed out to you?” He continues anyway, _stubbornly_ \- for he has always tried to do that, no matter how many impossible odds that he’s faced along the way (his father’s death, Edward’s death… Anne’s death, so recent and painful), “pointed out to you by who?”

Viola freezes for a long moment “…That’s not important.”

“Yes it is,” he contradicts, quite smoothly as he narrows his eyes (quite smoothly even as Hina stares at him like he’s gone absolutely and utterly mad), “it’s very important: why were we pointed out to you?”

“That’s-“

“ _What’s_ going on here?”

“I-“

“Has somebody given you _permission_ to kidnap people and devour them down here?”

“You,” she finally manages to interrupt, with harshly gritted teeth, “are _not_ as terrified as you should be.”

“I shouldn’t be terrified at all.”

“You really _should_ -“

“I really shouldn’t,” he says, and draws himself even further up the wall – raises his chin and faces her down as bravely as he possibly can, “for I have faced many things in my time: Mad kings, vicious queens, violent deaths, the roar of battle, men who wish to steal my crown and grind me down into the muck – and all of those things have been far worse than you, yet all of them have been _faced_ without a single tremble.”

…She’s staring at him, her face even whiter than before.

“And if I can face all those things without a tremble, then I can face you and do the same,” he says, perfectly levelly even under her eyes (red, and he has heard of red eyed men and women before), “For I would not call myself a brave man, unless by necessity. But I will not allow myself to become a man afraid of a bullying cannibal hiding under the earth where nobody can challenge her.”

…She stares at him for another flat moment.

“I will eat her first and make you listen to her screams,” and then _snarls_ , and turns upon her heel – marching to a hole in the wall so sharply that she practically stamps her way through the floor, “ _that_ will be a fitting punishment.”

And Hina whimpers besides him-

…He only draws a slow breath, wraps his hands around his restraints and watches her leave, “where are you going?”

“ _Out_ … To let you stew in the juices of your idiocy.”

“…Poetic.”

She only _growls_ yet again, marches out and leaves them to dangle there. Hina vaguely whimpering, him staring at the hole in the rock with yet again narrowed eyes.

…Well.

He finds himself rather wishing that the Doctor was here.

 

\--

 

“But _why_ would the governor’s seal be there?” She storms back into the library, coat still flapping around her. Puts her hands in her pockets and downright _scowls_ at the window, “it makes no sense!”

“Doesn’t it?” The Doctor mutters, entering behind her with that thoughtful expression _still_ upon his face – that clear one, that one that may make her want to punch him just a _little_.

“ _How_ could it have possibly got out there?” …She continues anyway, nobly repressing her urges and starting to pace as the Doctor continues to look on – a wise old owl with ridiculous beard and hair, “ _nobody_ goes out there: no servants, no friends, no casual associates, _nobody_.”

The Doctor makes a soft, thoughtful noise – it is not a good noise but that hardly matters by this point …Maybe you dropped it while you were investigating?”

…She _glares_ at him.

“…No?”

“No,” she replies, _quite_ firmly as he shrugs innocently before her (so very innocently, you’d almost believe that he was an ex-choirboy until he opened his stupid mouth), “I don’t drop things. Especially not when I’m on the job.”

“Bit of an arrogant boast.”

“ _You’re_ one to talk.”

The Doctor makes a contemplative sound at that, far _too_ contemplative considering that he’s the most arrogant man that she’s ever met (and she’s unfortunately met her husband, believe her), thoughtfully taps his chin and watches as she continues to pace “…Maybe it was dropped there by somebody else, then?”

“Such as…?”

“You know the people in possession of your seal much better than I do.”

“Any friends also know not to drop things, any servants are trained not to do so and any acquaintances would be too timid to dare venture that far,” she sighs, turns on her heel yet again (wonders absently how long it’ll take to wear a hole in the carpet), “I suggest you come up with another theory.”

“…Alright,” his dark eyes (like chocolate, but _far_ less tasty) flash for a moment, still more thoughtful than angry, “maybe it was put there deliberately, then.”

“What?” She pauses for a second, frowns with her foot still hovering, “to frame me?”

The Doctor shrugs, “something like that.”

“…It’s possible. If you’re in a position of power and you don’t have enemies then you’re not doing it right,” she shrugs briefly, starts up again, “but my acquaintances are all too timid, my friends are servants are all too sensible and, as I said, _nobody_ else goes out there. As far as framing attempts go it’s hardly the most intelligent one.”

The Doctor makes yet another considering noise. For once, oddly enough, it isn’t all that annoying “…Unless your husband planted it out there to frame you.”

She grunts, briefly thoughtful “…Also possible. Though he’s an idiot if he did.”

“Framing you in the eyes of your underlings, though…” The Doctor tuts for a moment, moves on hurriedly at the briefly frozen expression of terror that _must_ show upon her face (because the thought of losing everything? She hardly needs to say how _that_ feels in her gut), “or, on the flipside, you could’ve planted it out there to frame him.”

She _stares_ for a moment (her gut still feeling less than healthy), receives only an innocent eyebrow in reply.

“I may hate him more than any other person upon this planet,” she says, as levelly as she can (hiding her suddenly balled fists behind her back), “but I do not hate him enough to utterly betray the firm principles behind my job.”

“…Okay-“

“Who would even _do_ that?” She spits, coming to a trembling and helpless halt and _barely_ restraining herself from sinking her fists into the rather tempting looking wall, “who would be so petty as to pervert the job that they were born to do, put the people that they were meant to protect in danger and ruin absolutely everything for the sake of a man? Who? _Who_? Have you ever actually _met_ anybody like that?”

“Aferdita-“

“Because if so I _deeply_ hope that you punched them. Or jailed them. Or read them a long lecture on how they’re not only a shame to their species but a shame to the universe and the reasonable principles that _should_ govern it at _all_ times-!“

“Aferdita!” The Doctor waits until she grinds to a full halt, arches his eyebrow slowly as she pants her way through the passionate aftermath “…You’re really rather fond of your job, aren’t you?”

“…How did you guess?”

“I’m a genius, sometimes I pick these things up,” he smirks for a moment… Tucks his hands behind his back, adopts that slightly-less-annoying expression of thought yet again, “if you like your job that much, to the point of such ranting, then I can also assume that you are either concealing your dark purposes or simply haven’t done it.”

“…Oi-!”

“And I’m inclined to believe the latter option, _being_ a genius,” The Doctor is still smirking, just a touch confidently now “…But, if you haven’t done it or planted it or dropped it, that still doesn’t explain just why the governor’s seal was out there.”

“…No,” she frowns again.

“Are you sure that it couldn’t have been anybody outside this house?”

“Positive,” she nods, quite firmly – with all the strength of something _known_ , “which means that only five to six people could’ve left it there.”

“You-“

“Not me,” she interrupts, in a way that is almost _friendly_ be now, “the cook, Mr. Sol. The husband’s manservant, Apollon. My poor, poor maid, Sunna. The rather useless eighty year old guard, Mithras… And my husband.”

“Helios Dagfinn.”

“The very same.”

The Doctor hesitates for a moment after her answer, eventually gives a wry smirk like he accepts that absolutely nothing else can be done “…You hate him, don’t you?”

It’s such an understatement that she has to chuckle, easing her fists just _slightly_ (for the thought of her dearest husband is still enough to provoke unutterable rage), “absolutely loathe him.”

“…Well.”

“What?”

“You might be pleased, even if you’re too just to be the gloating type,” the Doctor grins, quite smugly, bounces a little on his heels, “because, at the moment, _he’s_ top of the list for questioning.”

…She pauses.

Glances at the clock above the Doctor’s head, is already moving towards the door as fast as she possibly can, “dinner is in fifteen minutes, I better get ready.”

“Good luck-“

She grins, fierce and maybe just the _slightest_ bit happy as she quickly bounces through the door, “hopefully I won’t be needing it.”

 

\--

 

“Hello?”

He isn’t really expecting a reaction, not _really_. She’d be justified in ignoring him, justified in pretending that he didn’t exist, even justified in screaming in his face for making her death that little bit closer (that little bit more painful). He isn’t expecting anything. Not _really_.

…So he’s rather surprised when Hina lifts her head, fixes him with a slightly shining look that is _far_ calmer than anything he deserves, “yes?”

“Erm,” as such he’s also maybe a bit stunned, and maybe so flaily that it’s only his position tied to the wall that stops him looking like an octopus in its death throes (morbid, yes, but if there was ever a situation for that it’s this one), “at least you know that I’m not a cave dweller now?”

She sends him a narrow eyed look.

He prepares for actual screaming.

…But, yet again, she doesn’t scream. She only lowers her head and snorts like his idiocy is actually _amusing_ , maybe even _adorable_ at a quite severe push, “yeah, definitely not a cave dweller. You ain’t quite monstrous enough for that.”

“I’m still a little monstrous, though?” He presses, trying for a smile.

“Well, _duh_ ” …Close enough to one for him to be pleased.

“…I’m sorry,” sort of pleased. When that sort is helplessly guilty. But then that’s always the way, isn’t it? Most of his emotions are mixed in with guilt, it’s the only way to go through life without acting like a complete and utter git, “I didn’t mean to provoke her.”

“I think she’s easily provoked.”

“But…”

“It’s none of your fault,” Hina interrupts him, with a quite stern look upon her face that he _never_ would’ve expected in a million years, “she would’ve killed me eventually anyway. And probably, despite what she said, just as painfully as she’s planning to do now.”

“Yeah…” He hangs his own head, looks down at his feet and absently misses his old boots – the ones he’s marched and rode in for years and _years_ , “I’m still sorry.”

“Shut-“

“How old are you?”

The question is so sudden, so seemingly random, that it actually halts Hina dead (perhaps not the best word for such a situation). Makes her close her mouth, tilt her head and actually _think_ in such a puzzled way “…Twenty two, one year older than Aurore.”

He’d be lying if he said that he tucks that piece of information away, he’s never quite been the sort for it, “no twenty two year old should be resigned to death.”

“…Well,” she blinks for a moment over that, a long and contemplative moment that seems to take several things that he wasn’t expecting into account, “how old are you?”

And now it’s his turn to blink “…Why-?”

Hina arches an authoritative eyebrow.

“…Thirty four,” he swallows, looks back down at his feet. They seem safer for some reason, “thirty four years of age. Though I feel a lot older, really, most of the time. Seems like the only thing I’ve ever known is my father rebelling against the crown or my brother rebelling against the crown or people going to war with me because of the crown-“

“Right,” Hina says, looking a touch confused yet again, “no matter how much you’ve been through, or how old you feel, no thirty four year old should be resigned to death either.”

He halts mid-tirade (well, sort of tirade).

“…I suppose not.”

“No.”

They hang in silence for a long moment.

…He thinks he hears scuttling but pushes it aside as Hina clears her throat again, “it’s not that I want to die, not really. I mean: I have far too much left to live for.”

“Aurore?” He asks slowly, turning his head to look at her almost properly.

“ _Definitely_ Aurore… Well, eventually Aurore. When I get around to properly asking her out,” yet another throat clearing, a slightly more awkward one this time, “but also my work. My family. My future and all the many, many things that may happen in it. I mean: society changes so much even over twenty years, who’s to say what it’s going to be like in eighty?”

He nods slowly “…Yes.”

“Do you want to die?”

…He thinks, equally slowly, “I’ve lost so many people over the years, so many people close to me, so many people that I’ve loved. It’d be nice to join them someday.”

Hina waits a long moment before pressing “…But not this day.”

He stares ahead for another.

“…No,” speaks slowly, firmly. His wrists tugging against the firm restraints, “not this day. Not any day immediately in the future.”

There’s a long pause.

…There’s definitely _some_ sort of scuttling coming from just outside the cave.

“Yeah, not the immediate future. Preferably not until I’ve reached _some_ sort of old age,” Hina still continues, even if with several glances to the hole where Viola merrily departed not too long ago, “So. I don’t want to die… I’m just not really sure how to avoid it.”

“…By fighting it?”

“Fighting _her_?” Hina laughs, a faintly (and only faintly. He admires that) terrified sound, “you can’t fight her, not properly. She’s a monster, a beast – she’d rip me apart before I could even give her a scratch-“

“She only rules through fear-“

“And I am _afraid_ ,” Hina’s eyes have started to flash again, and it certainly isn’t a good kind of flashing, “I’m not like you. I’m not that brave, I haven’t fought in all these battles, I haven’t _faced_ any monsters-“

“And neither have I,” he interrupts loudly… Waits until she slumps a little, wide eyed, before drawing in a breath and continuing, “there are no monsters, Hina. There are no bogeymen, there are no demons waiting in the dark - There are only men and women and the fantasies that they create around themselves to stay in power and keep their own fear at bay.”

She stares at him for a long second.

…She slowly gulps, “you’re saying that there’s only fear?”

“Yes,” he nods. So honestly that it almost hurts.

“I suppose that makes sense,” and she breathes in, soft and slow and desperately trying to keep herself in check, “even if it doesn’t matter. Even if I don’t fear her, even if I accept that she is only a woman like me and nothing more she is still actually in power. And she will still kill me with that power no matter what I do.”

He stares back at her.

…The shuffles stop just outside Viola’s exit-point.

“Not…” And he starts speaking slowly, thinking out loud because he’s too excited not to, “not if we get free, aren’t here when she gets back.”

That gets him another look. A narrow eyed, puzzled sort of thing that clearly implies how insane he actually is, “your bravery is enough to burn through the ropes and send us hurtling back to freedom?”

“No.”

“Then how-?”

…Now or never. He turns, as much as he can bound to the wall, opens his mouth and _yells_ as loudly as he’s ever yelled in his life, “hello out there!”

“ _What_ -?”

There’s another shuffle.

…And then a woman steps into the light, only resembling Viola in the way that people from London tended to vaguely resemble people from York. White hair, yes, red eyes, certainly – but younger. Smaller, plumper and more nervous looking in a way that simply can’t be denied.

Hina’s gawping besides him.

“Erm,” it doesn’t stop the woman, the new woman, from awkwardly shifting and digging her claws (nails, simply long nails) into the palm of her hand, “I am _so_ dead for coming here.”

…And he could deny that, and probably should deny that, but he’s pretty sure that it’d do no good and it really is best to move on to the practical matters before Viola comes back and actually kills them all, “you were the one lurking outside?”

“…Yes?”

“What’s your name?”

“Erm,” the woman, more a girl – she only looks eighteen at the most, awkwardly shifts again – folds her hands in front of her like that’ll provide a barrier against the world, “Lily. Lilith Otienoson… Though I wasn’t a boy, but my father wanted a boy and my mother thought that the ‘son’ ending sounded cooler, so-“

“Do you know Viola?” Hina interrupts the rant, leans up off the wall with an almost fascinated glitter in her eyes, “psychopathic, terrifying, looks a bit like you?”

“Hina-“

“I’ve heard of her,” Lily mutters, quickly recovering from slamming into that Hina-shaped wall mid-rant, “not properly though, not _really_ \- I thought she was just a legend to scare little kids. I didn’t think she was actually down here, actually kidnapping creatures from the world above in a quite frankly terrifying way-“

“Creatures?” He has to ask.

“…Sorry, that’s probably offensive-“

“No more offensive than what those above say about you.”

“…Yeah, I really don’t need your judgement right now. Sorry, Richie,” Hina clears her throat apologetically, hurries on as he falls blushingly silent, “so your name is Lily? And you’re not actually working with Viola to heighten our fear and make our kidneys more tasty or anything?”

“…No?”

“No?”

“ _No_ ,” Lily seems to catch herself, shakes her head so firmly that it’s a wonder it doesn’t come flying off and bumping into the wall between them, “that’s _sick_ \- I mean, what kind of freak eats other living creatures? What kind of awful creature would dare treat another moving being like that?”

…They both remain silent for a long second.

“Look,” and then he simply has to speak again, simply has to tug forwards against his restraints until he can meet Lily’s terribly big eyes, “we’re tied to a wall, waiting for her to come back and indulge in said sick eating. If you sympathise with us, if your entire being is telling you to sympathise with us, would it be possible for you to untie us and free us from such a horrible fate?”

Lily flails quite passionately and wordlessly at such a suggestion “…She’d _kill_ me.”

“Yes,” Hina nods, as patiently as she possibly can, “but she’ll kill _us_ if we stay here. And if she gets around to killing you we’re either gone or next on her gore splattered list.”

“What Hina is _trying_ to say is that we’ll protect you,” he interrupts, before Lily’s poor eyes can pop right out of her head, “or try to protect you. And we _will_ help you.”

“Help-?”

“Just a myth, just a legend,” he says slowly, as clearly as he possibly can, “but a terrifying myth, a dangerous legend. One that can be stopped, halted dead before she becomes less of a distant legend and more of a very real threat.”

Lily stares at him for a long second. Hina stares at him hopefully on his other side.

“…What-?”

“Free us,” he nods, barely managing to hide a rather desperate sort of hope, “just cut us loose and lead us to safety. That’s all we ask.”

And Lily hesitates for another moment…

“Alright.”

 

\--

 

“You’re wearing your work clothes again.”

She smiles as she bounces in through the door, neatly crosses her wrists behind her back and gives her dearest husband a _look_ so bright that it could burn all the flesh off his face, “am I now?”

“…You didn’t notice?” Oh, he’s _blinking_.

“I have better things to notice, my dear,” she smiles as sweetly as possible, remains standing as he stares up at her (like she’s gone mad, absolutely mad, absolutely and _utterly_ mad in a very mad way), “have you had a nice day?”

“…You never ask me that.”

“Well, I’m asking you now,” she bounces a step closer, eases yet more sweetness into that candyfloss smile, “please answer.”

“…Well-“

Just a pity that she doesn’t actually have the patience for an answer. She’s sure it would’ve been a good one. Containing singing and dancing and jazz hands galore, “kidnapped any people, perhaps? From gardens? Forests? Even the middle of cities, if you fancied an attempt at being truly daring?”

“Wh- _What_?”

“Left your seal anywhere?” She continues, trying to hold back the full _sugar_ of her beam, “in that forest, perhaps?”

“I-“

“While taking a man?”

“I-“ her husband seems to gather himself. As much as he can gather himself from the fetid, swampy wreck of his life, “what the _hell_ are you implying, Aferdita?”

“It’s hardly an implication, dear Helios,” she sniffs, raising her chin high and letting her smile slowly _curve_ “…One of my guests has gone missing. His name is Richard and he’s quite a nice man. He was taken from our garden – the latest in a rather unfortunate line of people.”

“…A great pity, But-“

“There were no real clues where he’d been taken,” she continues over him, raising her voice quite firmly, “just some kicked up dirt, the prints of his shoes. So we decided to go back further to find answers.”

Ah, and the words have frozen on her husband’s tongue.

“To the last man taken.”

“…I-“

“Alvis Svarog,” she gives stridently, despite him not asking for it and looking like he never would’ve, “worked in a library, quite a boring man by all accounts. Did you know him?”

Her husband’s throat seems to waver with the force of his gulp “…Why should I-?”

“Your seal was out there.”

There’s a long pause.

Her husband darts to his feet, shaking in the way that only cowards or people pressed by their emotions or cowards pressed by their emotions can manage “…What _are_ you accusing me of, Aferdita? I have no clue how it got out there, no clue at all. And yet you’re looking at me like I’m already guilty-“

“Because you’re talking like you’re already guilty,” she says harshly over him… And any sense of triumph has helplessly fallen away. There’s only a hard, cold desire for the facts now, “I should’ve known from the start, or at least pieced it together when Richard was taken from the garden. Who else could’ve had the authority to let people into the town centre? Who else could’ve exhibited such blatant disregard for their people? Who else could’ve been so self-centred as to allow this?”

“…I-“

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snaps, any sugar remaining burning entirely away, “where are they?”

Her husband simply gawps, like a dying fish facing its own mortality (because that’s all he’s ever been, really).

“Where _are_ they?” She _roars_ , striding forwards until she can slam her hands firmly on the table, “and who took them, Helios? …Why did they take them and why did you authorise such blatant murder?”

There’s another long moment.

Her husband’s (though he’s never deserved the title and never will) throat works yet again “…I don’t know what you mean.”

“Helios.”

“And I’m not really hungry, I’m afraid,” he continues, false confidence masking terror as he slowly starts to back towards the door, “I have far too much work to do. I really should get to that before it drowns my entire office in very complicated papers that you’ve never seen the like of.”

“ _Helios_.”

“So I must leave you to have you hysterics in private.”

“ _Helios_!”

“Goodbye!”

…And he flees from the room, slamming the door shut behind him as her nails dig into her palm and she very narrowly avoids breaking her teeth.

 

\--

 

“Follow me!”

“We are!”

“To wherever you’re going…”

They jog through the tunnels at a fair pace, clothes and hair flapping around them. He should, perhaps, be slightly out of breath – but instead there’s only a fresh feeling in his chest, a happy burn in his legs.

…He never enjoyed the fighting, the blood and the horror and the dead men all on his hands, but he enjoyed this. The running, the exercise, the sense of freedom when you just think of the path ahead and absolutely nothing else.

“Come on!”

“We _are_ coming on!”

“Very quickly, really…”

He never moved this fast with troops, never moved this fast with so many men to worry about and so much fear of the battle ahead. It was a choking weight in his stomach, a tight clamp around his chest. The knowledge of what came ahead draining all joy out of the landscape.

Edward, of course, never understood that. Nor did his son. Nor did his father. Nor even did his mother – who was more warlike than anybody else when provoked to it. The only person who ever did was Anne… Anne, who he can half hear cheering him on even though she’s long gone and distantly buried on another planet.

“Keep running!”

“What do you _think_ I’m doing?”

“There are a thousand options…”

He wonders if she’d be proud of him. Proud of the way he’s dealing with all of this, proud of the way he faced down Viola, proud of how he helped to save Hina’s life (even if only in part).

…And he realizes that she was always proud of him whatever he did. Because often he did things worth being proud of.

And then, as he briefly blinks over _that_ , Hina grabs Lily’s arm before she can start spouting yet more vague encouragements - and they grind to a halt. Standing in the middle of a solid stone corridor… With torches at the sides.

“Lily,” Hina says, as calmly as possible with the faintest flush on her cheeks, “where are we going?”

“…Home?”

“Brilliant, sounds remarkably safe,” Hina fixes her with a pointed glance. It is a very pointed one. So pointed, in fact, that it deserves to go in the universal gallery of pointy things (there’s probably one of those, he’ll have to ask the Doctor about it when they reunite), “but where _is_ home?”

“…The main city.”

“And where is the main city?” He presses mildly, to save Hina the effort (and the yelling, judging by a certain look in her eyes).

“Oh!” Lily, at least, seems to get it this time – and draws herself up, panting like she’s not used to the exertion at _all_ , “we’re close, don’t worry – we’ve covered a lot of ground over the last quarter hour.”

“…The last quarter?”

“The last quarter of an hour,” he completes the translation calmly, already _buzzing_ (like a bee, a bumblebee as Edward always used to call him when he’d had too much wine) to get moving again, “and we should be there within the next quarter of an hour?”

“Oh, _definitely_.”

“Shouldn’t we keep going, then?”

“…Yes?”

“Yes!”

And he smiles, and starts jogging after them yet again, as Lily shoots off like a comet and Hina mimics _perfectly_.

They turn a corner. Two corners, _three_ corners in quick succession The breath catches in his lungs, he can feel his face starting to go red, the soles of his feet are starting to properly ache, it is the best feeling that he’s had for _months_ (or, well, hours on this strange trip)…

And they turn another corner.

And _halt_.

“… _Whoa_.”

“Wow,” he agrees in a stunned whisper.

“This,” and Lily proudly proclaims, already bent over with her hands on her knees and her gasps echoing, “is _Intra_.”

 

\--

 

“He did it!”

They storm through the mansion on his tail, their (her) hands clenched into fists. Their (her) nails digging into their (her) palms. Their (her) teeth grinding together so hard that they feel like they could just _snap_ into chalky, unpleasant dust.

“ _He_ allowed that thing in!”

She slams open ten doors, twenty doors, a _thousand_ doors. Bedchambers, pantries, kitchens, bathrooms, pools, a _billion_ rooms so wasteful and pointless and seemingly perfect for the worm that she once called husband to cower in.

“How _could_ he?”

…But he doesn’t.

He isn’t hiding behind any plant pots, isn’t trembling in any baths, isn’t trying to miserably claw his way through the hard stone floor of the cellar.

He’s nowhere.

“ _How_?”

Nowhere at all.

“ _Aferdita_ ,” The Doctor catches her wrist on the fiftieth, seemingly, room – gently tugs her back before she can slam her fist into some wall or tear down some hanging or simply _screech_ at the unfairness of life – so sharp and intrusive that it seems to stab her right in the gut (viciously, like it has some sort of grudge) “…I’m not sure why he did it.”

And she _glares_ , that feeling still _stabbing_ (and ripping, and tearing, and aching so desperately)-

“It could’ve been to gain power in some twisted way, or could’ve been to get revenge against some obscure group, or could’ve simply been because he was bored,” the Doctor just continues in the face of it, eyes actually _thoughtful_ instead of bored or angry or utterly uncaring, “we’ll have to ask him when we find him.”

She opens her mouth-

“And can do _nothing_ about it until then.”

“But he’s not _here_ ,” she protests miserably, looking slightly up at him with fists still clenched (nails still digging, teeth still on the point of collapsing into dust), “He’s nowhere to be found, Doctor.”

“…We have to keep searching.”

“But-“

“We _have_ to keep searching,” the Doctor lets her go, steps back with that thoughtful look still in his eyes (backed up by a note of panic, and she never ever expected to see such a thing from him), “we have to find him. No matter where he is, no matter who he’s with – he has to face up to all the things that he’s done.”

She stares at him for a long moment.

Her fingers slowly start to ease. Just slowly, just the slightest bit “…How socially just of you.”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

She _smirks_.

…They shut the door to the room.

And carry on. Searching, _searching_ , for the man that did it.

 

\--

 

The walls of Lily’s house are plain, made out of earth and extremely boring in a way that only walls can manage. He knows this very well by now. And how does he know that very well by now?

Because he’s been staring at them _for the past two hours_.

“Richard,” Hina sighs from a nearby chair – her legs dangling over one arm, her hair thrown wildly over the other, “I’m _bored_.”

He knows how she feels.

Two hours sat here. Two hours without answers. Two hours spent doing little with his hands fisted in his lap and his eyes on that, admittedly lovely, wall. Two hours of nothing. Two hours since Lily backed out with a hasty, “keep hidden until I can explain things, yeah?” and _left_ them.

…He’s never been an impatient man (how could he have been? When all the things that he’s ever waited for have carried an indecently high chance of death).

But this is really starting to tire him out.

He rises suddenly, in one sharp movement, starts to pace (up and down, up and down) as Hina lifts her dangled head to give a narrow eyed look.

“…Richard?”

Up and down, “Mm?”

“She doesn’t seem much like a monster,” Hina offers, sitting fully up and awkwardly dragging her knees to her chest, “Lily, I mean. She’s a bit spooked, a bit innocent and all that. But that’s hardly monstrous – the opposite of it, in fact. The type of thing that should be _protected_ by monsters.”

“Mm,” up and down, ever repetitive, “You believe her, then?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” up and down, up and down – ever onwards, “but I just know, from experience-“

“That mythic thing you have so much of.”

“-That being faced with the truth so suddenly is quite a hard thing to deal with,” he pauses just for a moment, mid step, “and that you’d be perfectly justified in denying it at first. Clinging to your old patterns as hard as you possibly could.”

“…I won’t.”

“You’re strong,” back to the up and down, up and down.

“I always have been, ever since I was a little girl and- Well, you don’t need to hear about my parental troubles,” she raises a hand before he can say that he doesn’t mind at all “…They’re not all monsters.”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” up and down.

“They’re peaceful, reasonable, _vegetarian_ ,” Hina thinks for a long moment before dropping her legs, resting them on the floor in a faintly hesitant way, “if we’re to believe what she says, which I said I did earlier.”

“You’d be perfectly justified-“

“I know, you also said _that_ earlier,” and she rises to her feet steadily, clenches her hands before her as if trying to think something earlier “…But I still won’t, because I’m still strong and trying my very hardest _not_ to be inclined towards paranoia.”

He stares at her for a moment admiringly.

…While still going up and down.

“…They’re not all like Viola,” Hina mutters, after a long pause.

“No,” up and down.

“Do you-?” Even in the face of another pause (up and down, up and down – like a lion in a cage) “…Do you think she’s noticed that we’re gone yet?”

Up and-

He halts, shoves his hands in his pockets (of his battered jeans, still worn) and meets her eyes as firmly as he can, “I don’t know.”

“Will she hunt us?”

“I don’t know that either,” he sighs, a low sound, gently shrugs, “but I think that we’re protected here – Lily won’t hand us over. And if what she says is true, which it _is_ , then the rest of them will rally against her too.”

“…I don’t want innocent folk to die for me.”

“Neither do I,” he mutters, and starts pacing again to squeeze away the image of all those eyes (all those dead soldiers) staring at him ever so accusingly, “but you can’t stop them if they want to, and you can’t prevent somebody from dying when it’s their time to go.”

She stares at him for that. He tries not to shrink the tiniest bit “…You’ve seen a lot of people die, haven’t you?”

He can only draw in a slightly shaky breath “…Maybe.”

“Oh,” and she frowns a little. Soft, sympathetic, kind in a way that nobody has been since… Well, since Anne died (not that long ago), “We’re rather jumping the gun, anyway. We’re not even sure if they’re _willing_ to die for us: Considering that we haven’t met them and they don’t even know we exist.”

Up-

…Huh.

He slowly halts again, fully on his feet this time, “we could illuminate them, if you wanted?”

“What?” That earns him a blink, a puzzled wrinkle and a rather intense frown, “throw open a window and yell out onto the street? ‘Hello, we’re the people from above and we want you to die a bloody and protracted death at the hands of a madwoman just for us’?”

“No,” he says, quite calmly for that is the _common_ response to mad battle plans, “we go out there and tell them _politely_.”

“…Go outside and _talk_ to people?”

“Or not,” he shrugs, moves a little closer – staring into her eyes yet again, “the talking part isn’t necessary. Just going outside, getting some relatively fresh air, seeing if Lily is _definitely_ telling the truth instead of hiding some darkly cannibalistic community of evil.”

“…But she is telling the-“

“But do we know that for _certain_?”

She _stares_ at him for a moment.

He dares to mouth ‘it’s an excuse’ at her, barely holding back a smile with his hands in his pockets.

…And she starts to smile, “no.”

“No?”

“Not at all.”

And they _grin_ at each other, wide and gleaming and just the slightest bit entirely insane.

Then turn and sneak for the door, off to adventure (so shiny and wonderful) yet again.

 

\--

 

It’s several hours later when the Doctor comes to kneel besides her. She’s flopped in the middle of yet another room – her knuckles scraping the floor, her entire body bent with something like tiredness or something like despair or something in between them.

“We’re not going to find him,” she says, and knows how defeated she sounds.

“He probably disappeared within the first half hour of us looking,” the Doctor says, as gently as he can (and he’s not a gentle man, and she appreciates the effort but she’s not quite sure how to say it), “out of some back passage or through some window. This is his house – he probably knew everything about it.”

“Don’t rub it in-“

“I’m just stating the facts.”

She keeps herself lowered for a long moment. He keeps watching her – hovering and quiet and faintly _concerned_ in the oddest way.

…Pulling herself up, just a little, is an effort, “if he’s gone then how are we supposed to find Richard? Hina? Everybody else that he’s helped to take? How are we supposed to save them, Doctor? How are we supposed to do anything but sit here and wait until we’re all picked off?”

The Doctor regards her quietly for a ticking moment.

“…I’ve lived a long time, Aferdita,” speaks softly, doesn’t touch her but looks at her like he _knows_ the despair (the darkness, that thudding feeling within all people that screeches of failure being the only option in the end), “seen a lot of things, met a lot of people. And I’ve learned, over that time, that if something is _properly_ important nothing in the world can stop you from doing it.”

It’s something so ridiculous (so sensible) that she can only shake her head at it, “this isn’t some motivational talk, this isn’t some carefree summer Mummer’s play where good wins in the end-“

“No,” The Doctor interrupts, quite calmly with the eyes of a man who has faced all the cynicism before (and yet still believes in fairytales. Still believes, in the end, that good will win out), “but you are you, as stupidly motivational as that sounds.”

She looks at him for a moment. Properly _looks_.

“…You are braver than you think, and you already know that you’re pretty brave. You’re stronger than you think, and you already know that you’re pretty strong,” the Doctor smiles slightly, just slightly, under her scrutiny, “I’ll cut right to the chase: you know where the opening to the caves is?”

…She doesn’t just look, she _stares_ , “what-?”

“Do you?”

“…Yes, but-“

“They’re down there,” The Doctor interrupts her mid-surge, catches her arms gently and looks at her as she frowns, “we know that they’re down there. It’ll be harder without your husband, former husband, to lead the way – but we can find them, we can save them and stop this and make your people safe forevermore. All you have to do is be brave.”

…She falls back to looking at him.

He looks right back at her.

…She slowly starts to smile, “and bring some back-up?”

And the Doctor _grins_ in return, “that really goes without saying.”

 

\--

 

He’s been in cities before, of course. Many cities – London, York… Big places, bustling with people and laughter and _life_. Wives mocking their husbands and husbands flirting with their wives and youngsters being so very boisterous as only youngsters could be. He’s even been to a city on another planet before, if Abextra was anything to go by.

But…

He’s never quite, _quite_ been to a place like Intra.

Never quite dreamed that such a city could exist under the ground, so far away from the sun. Never believed that whole groups of people, well heeled ladies and pale labourers and even the odd toddler stumbling unsteadily along, could carry on so happily in such a state. Never really knew that such a place could be so very _beautiful_.

Fake suns hang from the distant ceiling, casting an almost unnatural light. Dirt buildings stretch high, even reaching to about eight stories in all their earthen majesty. Trees and plants grow along the streets, strange sprays of greenery that people gossip and _laugh_ under. The walls display many murals, depicting cave dwellers fighting with dragons or the night sky or dancing groups of women or…

 _Everything_.

And though every person passing has fangs and claws, and though every person passing is so very pale… He can’t think of them as anything other than human. People just like him.

“They really aren’t monsters,” Hina says from behind him in hushed tones, and one glance is enough to realize that she’s come to exactly the same realization.

“No,” he replies quietly, and knows that it’s enough “…Fancy seeing more of them?”

Hina only _laughs_. An enchanted, happy sound…

They hurry off together, practically hand in hand. For Intra is calling and they’d be _fools_ not to hear it.


	4. Intra

They’re gone.

Chains broken. On the floor. Rock slightly scratched. Footprints in the dust – but they fade after a few steps, nothing to track them on but the smell.

The smell fades a few more steps after that. As if they were moving quickly.

…They’re _gone_.

She (ViolaViolaViola) stands staring. Her fangs grinding. Her claws in her palms. She stands staring at the broken chains. The only things that remain of her trapped prey.

They looked so very tasty too…

Girl from above. Only a girl, not at all a woman. Black hair, Brown eyes. Dark skin - _soft_ skin. Ever so soft. Warm. Salty. A warrior, one who worked. The muscles are always stringier but the blood tastes better. Healthier. _Pump pump pump_ \- better than the finest of wine. (Not that she has ever had wine).

Man from… Elsewhere. Strange smell clinging to his skin. Like she imagines the stars would smell – a sense of travel, dust (for they are all dust) whirling through space. Slightly plumper than the girl. Slightly older, too. But still a warrior. Still a fighter. Perhaps even more of one. Defiant. Had a look in his eyes like he wouldn’t scream until the very last minute. And the screams always taste better when they’ve been bottled up.

She shifts a little. Lost in her imaginings.

…She sees the chains again and remembers.

That They. Are. _Gone_.

Wriggled loose… No. _Cut_ loose. One of her former people. Came in here – pretending to be civilised as everybody but her does. Tugged them away from her. _Took_ them away from her. Never once thought of her hunger. Her needs so sharp and ready.

But then nobody does. (“Why are you doing this? Why are you doing that? Why can’t you be more like your older brother? Why can’t you be more like _me_?” She remembers her father saying. Her father sneering. Her father disregarding her every need as he shoved her into the dark.)

…They shall pay for this.

She turns sharply away. Her nails stabbing and stabbing. Until they find blood under her paper-thin skin.

She shall find them _all_.

 

\--

 

Oh darn.

Oh _darn_.

_Oh-_

They’re _gone_. Gone from her tiny cubby hole of a room. Gone from her house overall. _Gone_ in an entirely general sense! Gone without a note, gone without a word, gone without even something vaguely scratched on the wall – an insult or a poem or whatever firmly telling her that she was a fool and would never ever see them again.

… _Gone_!

And she’s never been one to restrain her rather justified _panic_. Has always been one to draw in deep breaths and flail quite passionately and pace up and down the room like _that_ ’ll fix things in a rather apologetic sort of way.

She stares at where the girl, Hina, was sitting when she backed out with a hurried apology. Stares at where the man, Richard, was standing when she shut the door behind her and hurried off to other nervous business. Practically bites through her _lip_! For- for-

They’ve left her.

She gulps at the knowledge.

…They’ve left her. Unable to fight, unable to talk her way out of things, unable to even _think_. And when Vi- Vio- the beast comes she’ll be like a newly born babe – perfectly easy to terrify and taunt and gobble up with a few quick _snaps_.

Dead before she could even defend herself.

…She slows, drops into the now empty chair with an acidic tasting gulp. An entirely helpless shake.

She’s never really wanted to be dead.

All she’s ever wanted, ever really wanted, is to _help_. To make people feel better – happier, brighter (even if they acted like her friends only when they needed somebody to complain at and ignored her utterly when she had something that _she_ wanted to talk about). That’s why she was wandering, in search of pilgrims to pick up and look after. That’s why she freed them, because she couldn’t stand to know that anybody _had_ to suffer such a hungry fate. That’s why she took them to her _home_ , despite the fact that monsters could’ve bloodily trailed them all the way.

…And now what does she have to show for it?

She drops her head into her hands, still helplessly shaking.

Now what does she have to show?

She lets out a dry sob, feels it scrape painfully at the edge of her throat like only dry sobs can.

 _Now_ -?

…Are those footsteps at the door?

Yes. Yes! Two pairs of footsteps, two pairs of very _distinct_ footsteps because they’re wearing strange things on their feet and walking in time and not being accompanied by the slightly eerie scrape of claws with every single step they take.

She slowly, still shakily, rises to her feet.

The door quietly, maybe a bit timidly (which is unfair since _they_ are the ones that disappeared), swings open…

“Where have you _been_?” She finds herself _shrieking_ , before they even amble rather unfairly into view, “Do you know how worried I was? How- how scared I was? You could’ve been _dead_ in some _gutter_ for all I knew and yet- and yet- How _dare_ you amble in here like that? And how dare you abandon me in the first place? And how dare you _dare_? And where have you _been_?”

…Phew.

She takes a deep, almost calming, breath. Richard and Hina, now fully in the door, give her a wide eyed look like she’s just gone absolutely mad and started wearing a pear proudly on top of her head.

“… _Well_ -?”

“You’re exactly like us” …Or maybe the wide-eyed look wasn’t entirely for the hypothetical pear. Moving on, moving swiftly on, “all of you, you really are.”

Her mouth works around words – they rather fail to rise obediently to the surface.

“I mean: you have claws, and fangs, and very pale skin that looks like it’d bruise like a peach,” giving Hina the chance to continue, edging a bit closer with a certain odd look of _wonder_ in her eyes (she’s not quite sure why, it’s hardly like this part of Intra is the _rich_ part or anything), “but apart from that there’s absolutely no difference.”

“…I- I’d-“

“No difference at all,” Hina simply smiles, shakes her head… _Awestruck_? “You aren’t monsters.”

“…Yes, erm, I, um, did say that-“ She can only try to start.

…Splutter.

Fail utterly.

“She’s been saying that all the way back here,” Richard provides mildly, kindly when the words will simply _not come_ and she’s left staring at Hina in a rather embarrassed way (awe, she’s never provoked _awe_ before), “truthfully, I must admit. We must’ve passed about thirty people, at least – and none of them looked like the above image of cave dwellers.”

…She draws in a shaky breath, doesn’t look up this time, “and what is the above image of cave dwellers?”

“Monsters.”

“…Like our image of above dwellers.”

“Yeah,” Hina finally manages something that isn’t completely stunned, a brief glance up shows that she actually looks _thoughtful_.

Right.

 _Right_.

“You went out-“ She looks _properly_ up, falters at the first hurdle and metaphorically trips over her feet “…Into, erm, the city?”

“Sorry,” Richard says, starting to blush just slightly.

“It’s…” She gathers herself, before she can flail and flutter and fall into an entirely not-good world of red, “yeah, um. I thought you’d left me all on my own – that V- the monster would come and, um, blame me and kill me and that I’d have nobody to defend me from that. You didn’t even leave a note, didn’t even tell me where you were going.”

“…Sorry,” Richard repeats, definitely (awkwardly) red by now, “again.”

“Sorry,” Hina echoes this time, still looking so very thoughtful “…But we needed to see for ourselves. Seek the truth instead of just accepting it and all that.”

…Oh.

“I can understand that,” she mutters, turning a little bit red herself, “but- yes, a bit of telling would’ve been nice.”

“Yeah,” Hina says again. Somehow even softer, her eyes actually almost managing sympathetic “…But we’ve seen now, haven’t we?”

“Oh, yes,” Richard nods, still red but obviously determined to _work_ with it (instead of just curling up in a corner and crying out for mother. She likes that), “as you’ve probably already gathered. None of you are monsters apart from Viola, none of you are even nasty. All of you look pretty much _exactly_ like-“

…And he pauses.

They both wait for him, politely.

“…Those from Abextra,” he continues, slowly glancing between them, “two arms, two legs. Similar facial features. I swear I even saw one with roughly the same nose as Aferdita.”

They keep waiting… Confusedly.

Justifiably, as Richard _spins_ to her and grabs her arms – holds her and stares like he’s desperately trying to figure something out with knowledge that he’s only recently discovered, “you do, you look the same. You don’t look like two different species, cave dwellers and above dwellers, you only look different in the sense that people from Turkey and people from England do.”

“…Turkey?” She asks, frowning in a slightly (just slightly) terrified way.

“Do you know anything?” But Richard, more out of excitement than anything, simply ignores her. Keeps holding on and staring in that still determined way, “anything about why you look so alike? Are there any myths or legends? Stories passed down from parents to children in an endless sort of way?”

“No-“

“ _Anything_?”

“ _No_ ,” she snaps as firmly as she can - Which isn’t very firmly, because she’s always had the holding ability of _water_ instead of rock “… _I_ know nothing. But, um, if you really want to find out there are other sources.”

Richard lets her go, steps guiltily back (but still with that look upon his face), “other sources?”

“…The library?”

There’s a contemplative pause.

“Will you take us there?” Hina asks eventually, crossing her arms and sending a just _slightly_ pleading look, “so he can find out what on earth is bothering him.”

“I…” It isn’t that hard a question, “tomorrow. When the bulbs are on the day cycle and we have no chance of being dragged into a dark alley and eaten up by some rather vicious monster.”

…And they both start to smile, “that’s really all we can ask for.”

She _laughs_ -

…Oh, joy, it comes out stupid and nervous. _Just_ her wonderful luck.

 

\--

 

She stands on the lip of the caves, looking down into them. A world of dark: of rock and dripping water and the sunlight so very far away. A strange world, an unknown world, a world that-

…She will not say it.

No.

Especially when the Doctor will say it for her, ambling away from the troops (Aurore preparing determinedly in the middle of them) and right to her side, “scared?”

She stares down for a moment.

Thinks on how she’s never been below before, how she’s never really been outside the city before. Thinks on how _much_ is riding on this – Richard and Hina and the safety of all her people. Thinks on all that’s against her – her husband, the unknown monster, the dark, the other monsters that may lurk. Thinks on that _tremble_ beneath her skin – that judder, that shake, that steadily growing screech, that thing telling her to simply turn on her heel and run for her life…

Thinks on who she is.

…And _properly_ thinks, again, on how much is riding on this – and how much she has to save.

She looks up at the Doctor, smiles slightly. He returns that smile, slightly confused in an almost (she’s not quite that far _yet_ ) endearing way.

“Not when they should be scared of _me_.”

And his eyes widen slightly, amusedly…

But she’s already turning away, drawing in a deep breath and marching back to her fully suited people (so well prepared) with her chin held so high it’s a wonder she doesn’t land on her back, “move on out!”

 

\--

 

“Richard?”

He’s so surprised at the voice that he starts right up in his chair, hovers there for a stunned second… And thuds back down just before it can tumble across the ancient stone floor (and take him with it. It’d be _just_ his luck to avoid getting eaten by a cave dwelling psychopath only to end up cracking his head open on a particularly stubborn piece of rock).

Lily smiles at him apologetically across the table, takes her own seat with a lot more grace, “have you found anything?”

“I-“ he clears his throat, tries to get back on track with all due speed, “where’s Hina?”

“ _Here_.”

…If not a lot of dignity.

At his side Hina raises her eyebrow, swings her feet neatly down from the table, “you must’ve been right captivated to forget everything like that.”

He _blushes_ , looks down at the page again (and desperately tries not to get sucked back in, because that’d just be _awkward_ ), “perhaps. Perhaps I’m just not very observant.”

“You were-slash-are a soldier,” Hina says flatly, in a tone that quite implies how unwilling she is to dally around, “now stop attempting to angst and tell us what fascinated you.”

“I-“

“ _Richard_.”

He glances at Lily, Lily gives him a slightly guilty shrug in response (but not too guilty, for she obviously wants to know too).

…And he can’t blame them.

Now that he’s coming out of his dream, _properly_ coming out and seeing the world around him again, he knows just how important this information is. How stunning. How _life changing_. Nobody could ever be the same after such news. _Nobody_.

…And he desperately hopes that that’s a good thing. 

“I warn you,” he says, obediently picking up the book and clearing his throat around a sudden lump of panic, “I’m not the best storyteller, this will be a matter of rather boring reciting.”

“That’s alright,” Lily says, giving a slight and extremely supportive smile.

“We’ve faced worse things,” Hina snorts, giving a snort and a mildly supportive wave of her hand, “like the wait for this apparently fascinating story.”

“It is fascinating-“

Hina just raises her eyebrow, again, “whatever.”

“Right,” and so he clears his throat, raises the book up, closes his eyes for a moment before fixing them firmly upon the page, “right…”

“ _Once upon a time a ship landed on an empty planet. Perhaps it’d had people before, perhaps it’d nurtured them even recently – but when the ship landed the planet was absolutely empty and the pilgrims contained within stepped out upon an entirely fresh world. And they said: “it is good.”_

_The world was beautiful and shining, with wide forests and deep caves, but the pilgrims knew that they could not simply sit and stare at its splendour. So instead they decided to build a city – a grand city. With high buildings like they were used to at home and huge mansions that they had always dreamed about. It would be a perfect city, a brilliant city, a truly wondrous one – and all the pilgrims would happily work to keep it so._

_But there was a problem._

_The pilgrims had two leaders, one great man and one great woman, who had been united in all things. But at the question of where to build the great city they started to fight in a most terrible way. The other pilgrims would hear them screaming at each other every night. Screaming and screeching and sometimes even slapping when their anger got too much for them._

_“The city shall be built in the forest!” The man yelled, strong and determined and believing that he was absolutely right._

_“The city shall be built in the caves!” The woman yelled right back, just as strong and just as determined and believing that _she_ was absolutely right._

_And the pilgrims were terrified, and the pilgrims were scared, and the pilgrims desperately desired that their leaders would stop fighting. And the pilgrims came to their leaders and went: “halt! Halt! We are all one, we are all the same. Does it really matter if we prefer to live above land or under it? Are we not all old enough to recognize that we are the same and so should be united no matter our preferences?”_

_But the leaders would not listen – for they could not listen, so stuck were they on their own points of view. So the man took half the pilgrims and started building a city in the forest. And the woman took the other half and started building another city under the earth. And so the two sides were divided forevermore…”_

“But that did not stop them from coming from the same place,” Lily finishes in hushed tones, glancing up at Hina like she’s never seen such a face before, “from being the same species no matter their arguments.”

And Hina is gaping in exactly the same way, wide and flapping and so wonderfully stunned, “we really are the same.”

“Exactly the same.”

“Probably related far back,” Hina sways for a moment, raises a slow hand to her face and laughs helplessly into it – shoulders bouncing, head shaking just slightly, “all this time everybody above has spent fearing you: and we’re exactly the same species, exactly the same people underneath, exactly the _same_.”

“As I said,” he smiles gently, watching them stare with an odd feeling of pride, “there are only people, and the fears they build around themselves.”

Lily giggles, bright and ever so young, “only people.”

Hina smiles, happy and free, “only people.”

And they grin at each other for a moment: all young and all free and all so happy that they could burst and hardly mind it for a second…

And, of course, it can’t last. It’s _his_ life, after all.

There are yells outside, the panicked stamp of feet. A brief burst of silence (somehow more ominous than the yells) and then more raised voices, more scrambling – the sound of people in a great panic for some terribly unknown reason.

…The sound of an army, before they go off to war.

Immediately he’s up on his feet, only a second after Hina. Lily follows a few moments after them – her eyes wide and so very unused to war and panic and all those terrible things.

“What is it?” Hina hisses, already tensed and ready to go.

…He only glances back at Lily.

Who gulps, slowly. Blinks a few times and then slowly draws herself up – shaking for just a moment before she starts heading towards the door, “we’ll soon find out.”

And he can only follow.

…Powerless yet again.

 

\--

 

“Viola!”

She pauses. Halfway down one of her hidden corridors. Turns back. Nails scraping on her palm. He’s (Helios. HeliosHeliosHelios) standing there with wide eyes. Dark skin. Hair falling into his face. Shoulders shaking. He looks rather out of place here. Where everything is so cold and dripping and solemn.

…He really shouldn’t be here.

“Dagfinn,” she speaks slowly. Takes a step towards him. Lets her nails dig even deeper, “why…?”

He hurries towards her. Tries to grasp her arm. She stares at him. He immediately backs off. Raises his hands as if he’s ever so _sorry_. As if he didn’t mean to. As if he doesn’t want to face the consequences of his actions. (Such a coward. Always a coward. Happy to let others feast while he stands there with fastidiously clean hands.)

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, “my wife knows.”

His wife. A brave creature. Flashing eyes. Tight fists. Skin that looks like it’d be so easy to rip open and burrow under until the blood flowed sweetly down her hungry throat.

…She knows.

“Knows?”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he cries like she’s actually threatened to rip out his eyes. Looks for a moment like he’s about to fall to his knees. Beat his chest in some insincere expression of guilt, “she’s figured it out. The opened doors, the sneaking in, the kidnapping, the _killing_ … Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”

She stares. Silently.

“My career is _ruined_.”

She smiles. Slightly. For it is always him. Only him. _Only_ him even with the scent of blood thick in her nostrils and the longing for flesh pounding in her gut.

(Just like her father. Just like her brother. Just like her mother. Just like everybody turning away as she cried and cried and longed and longed and eventually fell silent with tears streaking her cheeks and blood under her broken fingernails.)

“Don’t you understand?” And yet he is still yelling, “ _ruined_ -!“

“I know the meaning of the word,” she should. She’s embodied it since a young age. After all. Has grown used to it in the end. Proud of it in a way that few could understand, “and how do you know it is ruined? You are the governor, my dear, you could easily declare her mad and invalidate every single thing that she’s ever said.”

“…I-“

Oh.

“But you ran without a thought,” she says. Half thinks of rolling her eyes. But no. She has never been one for such casual gestures, “how very foolish of you…”

“And now she’ll have turned everybody against me.”

“Well, that is entirely _your_ fault.”

“And I think she’s chasing me, following me, hunting me down so she can hoist me by my own petard and ruin my reputation for years to come,” he’s flailing now. She’d almost feel pity. But she’s also never been one for that “…Do you have anything _helpful_ to say or are you just going to stand there and smirk like an utter-?!”

“I could eat you whole,” she reminds him. Gently. Hungrily. Though she has the distinct impression that his blood would taste like acid in her mouth, “why do you think she’s following you?”

“Because I could damn well _hear_ her _and_ her bloody guards!”

Oh.

…Oh.

“You really are an idiot,” she tells him. Almost fondly. But mainly as a statement of pure and irrefutable fact, “if she’s following you then you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“I have _everything_ to-!”

“Not if she’s this quick on your heels,” she waits until he shuts up. The poor idiot. So very delusional, “think for a moment, if you can: if she’s _this_ quick then the chances are that she’s bothered to inform nobody but the guards with her. And guards, as I’m sure we both know, are very easy to pick off.”

“…Oh.”

She waits for a second. Feels the temptation to roll her eyes again.

“So,” it only strengthens as he starts grinning. Such a silly expression. She wants to rip it off his face, “we kill her?”

“Indirectly.”

“…Indirectly-?”

“Think again,” she says. A touch wearily. For he is a very wearying man, “coming here with guards in tow will still be seen as an act of hostility, even as a declaration of war! I can guarantee that my sweet, innocent people will be panicking and praying and preparing themselves right now.”

“…So?”

“I really should stop telling you to think, it’s obviously an instruction that you have no hope of understanding,” she _sighs_ , “we could use this to our advantage.”

“How-?”

“Please stop interrupting,” she sighs again. Lower this time. More ragged. Something for him to properly _shudder_ over with his terrified sensibilities, “and really try to _remember_ , just briefly, why you entered this allegiance with me.”

“…Power.”

“Power over all,” and finally she smirks. Watches him stare at her as he _very_ slowly figures it out, “we pick off your wife’s guards, we manipulate her into a situation where she’ll be attacked, we make sure that your city hears of it, we watch both sides throw themselves wildly into a war…”

“We let them destroy each other,” he finally gasps.

“And then rule over the weak left behind,” the smirk grows wider. Until it feels like it’s biting ever so nice and painfully into the sides of her face, “glad to see you finally get it.”

He licks his lips. Oh so tempted. Oh so triumphant.

“Come on,” but she’s already turning on her heel. Disinterested in his tongue. She can’t rip it out _yet_ , “ _I_ still have work to do.”

 

\--

 

And the guards are nervous and trembling.

And the guards are young and unused to the dark.

And the guards are panting so loudly that they can hear nothing over their fear…

And the guards are sweet. As she leaps from the shadows and digs her fangs into their wonderfully tender flesh.

 

\--

 

The steps outside the library are rough, hewn from stone so much older than all of them. She takes them two at a time, almost tumbles over her own feet at the bottom and only steadies herself by grabbing onto a man – one with darker skin than usual, wearing glasses and a frown as he turns to her.

“Sorry,” she can only garble, standing up and brushing her hair back, “so sorry. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“I can see that,” he tuts with an overly officious raise of his eyebrow, Turning on his heel (mercifully, she doesn’t _quite_ feel like exploding from embarrassment at such a deeply important time)-

But Hina, strong and fast and always so very _loud_ , appears on the scene before the man can fully flee to freedom – and immediately (and stubbornly) derails proceedings as per usual, “oi, wait up!”

(…Oh Gods, it looks like she will be exploding after all.)

The man halts, at the less than polite command, swivels back and arches his eyebrow – not a friendly gesture by any means, rather a _spiky_ one if she’s to be completely honest, “Yes?”

Oh _Gods_ -

And Hina has, oddly, stopped. Is just frowning and staring - in a rather helpful and not at all _completely mortifying_ way, “haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

“No,” the man says flatly. So flatly that she’s pretty sure that she’s never heard flatter, actually. So flatly that it’s probably been stepped on by one of those huge creatures that stomp about above, she _suspects_ , “is she with you?”

“Uh, _sort of_ -“

And the puzzled glare that Hina gives her at that point, but no matter the puzzled – it’s still a _glare_ , is soon overridden by Richard arriving at a speedy skid. Thank the Gods. Yet again. Profusely and possibly with _enthusiastic dancing_ this time, “what’s going on?”

“…Oh!”

She _sighs_ despairingly, resists the urge to bury her head in her hands.

“Excuse me,” says the man, in a tone that is less despairing and more _annoyed_ (she’d really bet on despairing being the better option, Hina and Richard are rather unmovable and it’s probably simpler to just hold on and try not to flail too much on the ride), “but can I go now?”

“No!” (…As proven by Hina _yelling_ , in a way that can only be blinked at in terror), “No, sort of sorry, not _yet_. We need to ask you things.”

The man seems rather (justifiably) perturbed by this, it’s in his shift (and his glasses, as perturbed as glasses can actually _get_ ) “…Do these things involve questions about eating my body parts?”

“… _No_.”

“We just want to know what’s going on,” Richard continues calmly, managing to hide his confusion like a _nice_ man (who is still weird enough to be considered a cannibal, she picks the _best_ friends), “why was there yelling? Why are people gathering? What’s going on?”

“…Didn’t you hear the _news_?” The man watches the obvious expressions on their faces, huffs grumpily – like it’s something _obvious_ and rather humiliating, “The caves have been breached, there’s going to be an invasion, unless we act now Intra will be overrun and all within it consigned to the slaughter.”

…Well.

She breathes deeply, tries not to faint. Watches as Hina and Richard exchange wide eyed glances.

“…Who have the caves been breached by?”

“Who do you _think_?” The man huffs _again_ , shakes his head like they’re all _idiots_ (and they might be, they really might be, they most probably _are_ ), “a party from above. And those from above are _known_ for not showing much mercy.”

And those wide eyes just get _wider_.

“Aferdita…” As Hina whispers, taking a small step back like _that’ll_ help with her complicated thought processes.

“Yes, exact- I don’t know what you mean,” the man only blinks at them a few times, and she’s far too close to proper and actual _panic_ to really pay any attention to his slip, “can I go now? I need to find my girlfriend, she might be in danger.”

Richard only waves him off with an absent hand.

…And he disappears into the crowd without another glance back.

“Aferdita…” Hina pays even less attention than Richard to that, clasping her hands under her chin and swaying again (it didn’t help her the first time, it’s not gonna help her _now_ ), “Aferdita and others, Aferdita and Aurore-“

“And the Doctor,” Richard agrees calmly, a little less jumpy in his thought – still, as he keeps his hands at his sides and wrinkles his forehead, “they’re coming for us.”

A pause.

And Richard actually _laughs_. Smiles a proper sort of smile, a _happy_ sort of smile, a surprisingly sort that she’s never ever seen on him before, “they’re actually coming for us. I didn’t think that the git had compassion in him…”

“It’s probably Aferdita’s blackmailing,” Hina points out, starting to grin herself – a wide, bouncy, _young_ sort of thing.

…A pity she has to break it with a, “who?”

“Friends of ours,” Hina provides, still _beaming_ away.

“Good friends,” Richard seconds, still _smiling_ (and this is getting rather odd, she’s not going to lie), “very good friends… And that should be alright, then, shouldn’t it? Aferdita is sensible, Aurore is sensible, the Doctor is _reasonably_ sensible. They’ll just come in and get us out, no harm done.”

…Just a pity that she can already see the flaws in that, wide and ominous and _growing_ , “but-“

“And your people are sensible, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” because they are sensible, very sensible, so sensible that it’s a miracle they don’t all smoke pipes and wear outdated glasses, but that doesn’t stop the _pity_ , “ _but_ -“

“So there really is nothing to worry about!”

“Nothing?”

“ _Nothing_ , for once.”

And Hina _laughs_ -

“ _Yes_ ,” and she really does absolutely _hate_ to ruin it. But that flaw is growing more and more pointed, more and more obvious as she just _keeps_ thinking it over, “but Viola isn’t sensible, is she?”

…And everything halts.

“And Viola is still in the caves,” as she continues. Step by step, softer and softer as the pall settles over their faces, “isn’t she?”

A _longer_ pause.

“We have to go with them,” and Richard, almost completely white, is marching away himself – quickly followed by Hina (and, oddly enough, _her_ \- right on Hina’s heels), “we have to stop whatever she’s planning before she kills everybody in her path.”

“Is that possible?” She can’t help but squeak. Desperately, hurrying along on her already aching legs.

“It has to be sometimes,” and Richard’s face is grim, as he turns the corner and walks into the _army_ , “doesn’t it?”


	5. Where the Monsters Lurk

Her feet hurt, the breath is pounding in her lungs and she is _scared_ \- actually, properly scared. And she thought that she’d known fear before, thought she’d glimpsed it as a child cowering from bedtime stories or a teenager joining up the second she left school or an adult just before taking the highest position in the land, but this is _different_ \- harsher, harder, a burn in her throat that can’t be denied.

She can hear the screams of her people behind her.

Feel Aurore, young Aurore – practically shaking by now, at her side, running as fast as she can. Dark hair falling into her face as she desperately keeps going.

See the Doctor in front, taller – so with longer legs, and yet not leaving them all behind, tight shouldered but not on the point of absolute panic. Jumpy but seeming more _angry_ as they swiftly turn a corner and she sees the briefest flash of his face.

…Still hear the screams of her people behind her.

It’s odd, really, she thought they’d be able to put up more of a fight than this. She thought, that when they _did_ come across the monster that’d stolen Richard and Hina and so many other innocent faces that deserved nothing more than a peaceful life, that they’d be _glorious_ \- terrifying, undefeatable as they blazed through and rescued their friends and returned to Abextra in time for tea.

…But those were just thoughts, really. Vague things. And this is reality. And reality is dark and cold and terrifying and involves running ever deeper into these deadly caves because there’s nowhere else to go.

She takes a deep breath.

Clutches her gun tight to her side.

Keeps _running_ \- because there’s nothing else to do and they may, just may, actually be able to face the monsters ahead.

(And her people keep screaming behind her.)

 

\--

 

The army from Intra is small but well proportioned. Dressed in gleaming new armour with their hair all tucked under helmets. They look fierce, ready, resolute as they move through the tunnels at a steady march.

…Just a pity that they have no weapons.

“We’re pacifists,” Lily is saying, jogging along besides him – already slightly out of breath, “we don’t carry weapons unless it’s strictly necessary, we don’t incite violence unless there’s no other option.”

“That’s a way to get killed,” Hina snaps, moving behind them both at a far easier speed.

“It’s _sensible_ -“

“It is sensible,” he says gently, for it _is_ \- he may be a man made for war but he’s always wished for peace, it’s the only sensible thing you can do after seeing the waves of slaughter left behind every battle, “but unfortunately we’ve moved beyond that. Will Viola listen to any words of peace?”

“No!”

“Gods no.”

“…But Aferdita will,” Hina rallies, draws herself up even as she walks, “Aferdita is sensible, Aferdita knows the value of negotiation instead of hopeless slaughter – the moment that the armies meet they’ll be able to easily sort it out and-“

“Viola,” he reminds.

“…It seems that all I’ve heard is Viola lately.”

He knows how she feels. But he can’t do anything, _certainly_ can’t wipe Viola and her cronies out of history with a wave of his hand, and so simply gives a bitter shrug – keeps up the pace of the army as they move higher and higher within the caves…

Until they come to a stone chamber. A small, natural thing barely high enough for even his head.

And come to the other army. The Doctor, tall and panting and flushed, standing at the front. Aferdita, terrified and scratched and slightly bleeding, just a little behind him. A small group of people, equally ragged and shaking and tired, right behind _her_.

He opens his mouth-

…And of course it can’t be as easy as that. The world simply doesn’t work that way.

 

\--

 

“They’re face to face,” Helios says.

“I’ve noticed,” she replies.

“They’re only a few steps away from each other,” Helios continues.

“I know,” she replies again.

“…They’re not _moving_.”

She sighs.

Does not wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Does not try to clean that hand against the nearest wall. Does not flinch from the blood spotting that wall. There’s a satisfied feeling in her gut. A slick buzz in her throat. The taste of blood still hot upon her tongue. She has feasted well today.

And their screams…

They feared her. Properly feared her. Properly feared the pale creature with claws that came out of the dark and swallowed them whole. They _panicked_. Prayed. Even prattled on their hands and knees before she silenced them forever with a few short snaps.

And she was darkness.

And she was _fury_.

And she was _hunger_. So sharp and terrifying and perfect…

(And her father. Her dear father. Told her that her hunger was worth nothing. That she’d never be anything. That she’d waste away without a single dream fulfilled. That her loathsome brother would have the last laugh. That her wan mother would always turn her face away. That he would always be there with his sneer and neglectful eyes.

She wonders how he feels now. Staring up from the afterlife without a heart in his chest.)

Helios is still shifting. The stupid man. She has never met anybody so actively opposed to a brain “…They _still_ aren’t moving.”

“They’re looking at each other,” she hums. For soothing is for a person with far fewer teeth, “isn’t that enough?”

“ _No_!” He spins to her. Distress clear on his gormless face. In the shake of his clean hands that were feared by _nobody_ , “no: because eventually my wife will get her breath back and will start talking and your escaped prisoners will start replying and they’ll all discover how close they are and how close we are and they’ll _kill_ us, Viola, kill us and rip us from our thrones!”

 _His_ throne-

…Her escaped prisoners.

She shifts past him. Uncaring for the tiny sob he gives. Stares out at the crowds… And. Yes. There they are. Girl from above. Man from elsewhere. Standing in front of the timid traitor that must’ve let them loose. They look as tasty as ever. As deliciously tempting as man from elsewhere prepares to draw in a breath. Prepares to hail the tall stranger at the top of his lungs.

“ _Viola_ -!” And Helios grabs her arm.

She turns. Half without thinking. Plasters one hand over his mouth. Uses the nails of her trapped one to scratch a deep wound on his wrist. Drip. _Drip_. Blood on the floor. Watery. Hardly a timeless vintage as she feels his muffled whimper hot against her.

“What was the plan?” She asks him. Uncaring. Tempted to skip the drawn out betrayal and just go for his jugular, “to start a war, to let most of them destroy each other, to manipulate the survivors until we ruled over both Abextra and Intra.”

…Swallowed both Abextra and Intra. In a few clean gulps.

He is nodding. Just slightly. Still trapped by her firm palm over his mouth… She decides that she will let him live for now. Lazily removes it with a tiny snag of her claws upon his cheek.

“That is still the plan,” and hisses. Draws back until she can suck his blood from her fingertips, “we just have to get a little more involved in it, that’s all.”

“…What-?”

She sighs. Grabs _his_ arm. Drags him forwards until she judges it perfect, “act like you are the wronged one and follow my cue, it should be easy enough from there.”

“B-but, Viola-!”

And she throws him forwards into the chamber. Smirks for a moment at his stumbling. Checks her shirt to make sure that the crimson stain of blood is clear there.

 _Follows_.

The crowds are surprised to see them. Angry. In some cases. Especially the case of the man from elsewhere. Who is staring at her like she is some devil descended from up high. She smirks at him for it. Just briefly. Gives a pretty little stumble.

“She dragged me down here!” Helios is spluttering to his crowds. Playing them like some fine actor. And she wonders if his blood would taste just as sweet as he lifts his arms imploringly, “her and _them_! They mean to feast on me, to feast on us _all_ slowly and make us seem like fools!”

…Hm. Perhaps he had more in him than she first thought.

An interesting theory. But now she is turning to her own crowds. Raising her own arms in silent plea, “no, my saviours, no! He kidnapped me with his folk many years ago and is now trying to drag me back after my brave escape! He has even _injured_ me!”

“No,” Helios cries from behind her. Holding out his arm, “she has injured me! And her kind would do worse!”

“ _His_ kind would lock us up as slaves!” She screeches at them. Widens her eyes. For she is not quite pretty but a damsel always has an attractive sheen, “glittering bugs, fit only for their entertainment! They have, in fact, come down here now to enslave you!”

Ah. She can _see_ certain heads tilting at that.

“ _Her_ kind have come up to eat you!” Helios mirrors. Almost perfectly, “to swallow you down! And not only you but your aged parents, your innocent little sisters, your young _children_ who can’t defend themselves!”

And _hear_ certain gasps echoing at _that_.

“They have always hated us,” she continues. Hiding her smirk and allowing herself to shrink a little. Take in the eyes of the furiously caught girl from above. Her fingernails digging into her palm, “always shared this planet with us reluctantly, waiting to put us in cages the moment our backs are turned.”

“They have always hated _us_ ,” Helios counters. And a quick glance over her shoulder shows that woman from above looks much the same. Her ropey body tense. Her too-dark eyes narrowed, “have always begrudged our land above, have always had plans to swallow us up!”

“And that is why we have been afraid of them,” she pronounces. Focusing on traitor now. Letting a brief flash of her teeth show. A promise sealed in terrifying shades of red, “because we have feared entrapment.”

“And that is why we have been afraid of them!” Helios proclaims. And another quick glance over her shoulder shows a second above girl. Her terrified eyes fixed widely upon the first, “because we have feared becoming simply some platter on the table!”

“But should we be afraid?” She finally moves her gaze to the man from elsewhere. Smiles at his gritted teeth.

“No! We should not tremble at these pathetic _creatures_ ,” and can feel the answering gaze of the tall stranger on the back of her neck. Ominous somehow. As if he has some great power that she doesn’t feel like recognizing.

“We should hunt them.”

“Catch them!”

“Fight them.”

“ _Kill_ them!”

“War against them,” and she looks away from them all. Looks to the crowd in general. Their terror. Their tension. Their trembling as they sway on the edge of catastrophe so bloody and glorious, “and all it will take, my brethren, is a quick raise of your weapons.”

And they breathe in.

And they shudder tightly.

And they rock. _Actually_ on the cusp of what she’s waited for so very long…

“ _No!_ ”

And the man from elsewhere bolts from his line and into the middle. Desperately waving his arms. Yelling at the top of his lungs. Trying to shut the slaughter down before it can even _begin_.

It is the work of a moment to _slam_ her claws into his arm.

…She inspects his blood upon her palm as he goes down. And wonders. By the horrified gasps of the crowd. If she hasn’t gone _too_ far.

 

\--

 

She can’t let this happen.

Richard slumps to the floor, his arm seeping blood. The tall stranger, she assumes he’s that Doctor Richard keeps blathering on about, immediately darts past the man in league with Viola and kneels by his side. Viola herself smirks, vicious and _hungry_ as she raises her eyes back to the army. Both sides tense, start forwards just slightly-

…And she _can’t_ let this happen.

“Stop!” She _has_ to, despite _never_ having been a soldier and never having even been _brave_ , throw herself forwards just like Richard – yell at the top of her lungs, “ _stop_ this!”

And she sees Viola, out of the corner of her vision, smoothly turning-

But then Hina is stepping forwards in front of her. And suddenly the only noise is the clicking of guns – all of the guards left on the other side raising their weapons and fixing Viola in their cold sights.

“…Stop what?” The woman in front, she assumes Aferdita, asks – eyes narrowed.

“ _This_ ” …She better make it worthwhile, then, “the war, the fight, the tension, the trembling as if we’re absolutely _terrified_ of each other. Are we that easily manipulated? Do we truly believe that we would do harm to each other before even a word was exchanged?”

…The leader of her army, a white-haired woman with wrinkles around her eyes, hesitates for a second – sways with her claws shifting before her, “wouldn’t we?”

“ _No_ ,” she sighs, bites her lip until the urge to shake recedes, “they were telling _lies_.”

“We were-!”

“Were they?” The leader interrupts again, staring at her like she’s some sort of divine profit.

“Of course they were,” and then at Hina, still in front of her and glaring at Viola like the force of her eyes can drive all monsters away, “ _he_ , Helios Dagfinn, might wish to enslave you all and make you little more than canaries chirping away in cages – but the vast majority of us have no such urge.”

“Exactly,” she addresses Aferdita in turn, for the woman is _terrifying_ but she still somehow feels safe, “just as the vast majority of _us_ have no urge to eat you. Most of us are vegetarians, in fact.”

“I’m not,” Viola interrupts in a rough, beastly tone.

“No, but you’re a monster so-“

The woman, for she is _only_ a woman when you bother to look beyond the ring of red surrounding her mouth, takes a threatening step forwards. Is halted by the clicking of yet more guns, the slow mobilization of an army starting to reason.

“Thank you,” she says, timidly to Aferdita yet again.

And Hina follows her, finally glancing away from Viola with a pleading stare, “no species can be entirely monstrous, just as no species can be entirely heavenly. There will always be the dark, the foolish, the downright evil. But those are the _exceptions_ : most are innocent, joyful, just ordinary people trying to live an ordinary life. The people from Intra aren’t all bad, aren’t all naturally _awful_ \- they’ve only had the misfortune to breed one monster.”

Aferdita tilts her head, slowly, “but the people who’ve been stolen…”

“ _One_ monster,” Hina simply reminds her, straightening as she speaks, “only one.”

“And you’ve bred monsters too,” she murmurs quietly, and sees Aferdita’s glance shoot to Helios – his openly loathing face sneering at them all.

“We aren’t that different,” Hina addresses everybody now, all of them as one, “in fact I’d dare say that we aren’t different at all. We only split eight hundred years ago, we haven’t even had _time_ to evolve into a different species.”

“But-“ Says her leader.

“But-“ says Aferdita.

The Doctor, for it _must_ be the Doctor, hushes them both – gestures for Hina to continue with narrowed eyes.

“We’re even close enough to breed, I reckon,” Hina continues, slightly shakier now under the gaze of everybody, “fall in love, get married, have a family…”

The man from above opens his mouth-

“Where’s the man I bumped into in front of the library?” She cuts him off, clears her throat and speaks as loudly and clearly as she ever has, “the one who was searching for his girlfriend? The one who we, erm, really quite annoyed?”

There’s a pause.

…She’s gratified to see both Viola and Helios’s eyes widen as the man, with his dark skin and glasses, shifts to the front and awkwardly clears his throat. Is even more gratified to see a woman who _must_ be his girlfriend standing right behind him, her white hair gleaming and her red eyes fierce.

“Alvis Svarog-?” A backing girl from above, she’s assuming Aurore from the way Hina’s eyes soften when they’re on her, starts in a rather stunned way.

“Hush.”

“But it’s _him_ -“

“ _Hush_.”

“You came down here, didn’t you?” She asks him over their squabble, looking him right in the eye like she’s never been able to before, “didn’t you?”

“Maybe…”

Hina arches her eyebrow.

“…Yes.”

“It’s already happening, then,” she turns back to them all, draws in her breath yet again, “we’re already inevitably coming back together, no matter what rubbish they try to stir up.”

“But-“

“ _But_ ,” her leader interrupts Aferdita just a second afterwards, rather starting to make a habit of it, “we live below and they live above. We’re completely different, we _can’t_ -“

“I was born above but I’ve always wanted to live below,” Alvis gives, shifting awkwardly with his glasses and sending a nervous glance back to his girlfriend (she smiles at him, he seems to straighten after that), “likewise: I- I have a few friends down here who have always wanted to live above. The preference isn’t genetic, or anything.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Hina agrees firmly, spreading her arms in supplication, “it’s just a _preference_ : like how I like white bread and my friend, Aurore, likes brown bread.”

“Or like how I like cookies and my father likes cake.”

“Exactly!” Hina nods firmly, so firmly that her head might just fall off and ruin _everything_ , “and I’m about to sound like some second rate self help book, yes: but our differences, our preferences and our quirks and our personal beliefs, are what make us _us_. And certainly aren’t something to kill people over.”

“To start a war over,” she seconds quietly.

“To enable madmen with,” and Hina finishes, her eyes starting to blaze, “they want us to turn on each other, to slaughter each other over the tiniest things until we’re weak enough for them to amble in and ruin _everything_. Do we want to give them that satisfaction?”

“Do you want to give these _liars_ satisfaction, is the true question,” the man from above _spits_ , trying to rally back to his own crowd, “what if you embrace them and they come out with more beasts like _her_?”

Viola stiffens under his gaze, “ah, but what if they come out with more beasts like _you_?”

“You are both one offs, as we’ve already said,” she protests, and is surprised to hear the firmness of her voice, “not everybody is like you, not everybody is some terrifying monster crawling in the dark-“

“And, in fact, you’re not even terrifying. Or monsters,” Hina turns away from them – looks to where Richard is sitting on the floor, propped up by the Doctor and staring at them both with imploring eyes “…A wise man once said to me that there are no monsters. There are no bogeymen, there are no demons waiting in the dark. There are only men, and women, and the fantasies they create around them – the webs of tangled fear they weave to stay in power.”

…And everybody is _definitely_ staring now.

“The spider’s webs,” as Hina continues, locking eyes with Richard and smiling just slightly, “terrifying at night, but so easily brushed away when the sun rises.”

“And the sun is long overdue,” she nods, takes in Richard’s answering smile with a feeling almost like she’s flying, “it’s time to step out into the dawn, blink the sleep from our eyes and brush away those webs.”

 _Staring_.

“…It’s time to stop blindly fearing, and start actually seeing.”

 _Staring_ -

…Aferdita lowers her gun just slightly, starts to smile as if she’s just awoken from bad dreams.

“Ma’am?” Hina asks, hesitantly.

“Hina, I feel like I’ve always rather underestimated you. Something which should be fixed the moment we blinking step into the sun and finish all other vague movements,” Aferdita _laughs_ , loud and bright as the man from above shrinks back and _gulps_ , “arrest my former husband, please. We no longer have use for him.”

“…I-“

Aferdita gropes at her belt, draws out a pair of handcuffs and tosses them cheerily over.

…Stares at her leader as Hina hurries to follow orders, arches her eyebrow slowly – politely, hopefully.

“…Lily, isn’t it?” The woman asks quietly, rocking back on her wrinkled heels.

“Yes?”

“Excellent,” and suddenly she’s fumbling with her own pair of handcuffs, being watched with a smiling gaze as her leader takes a slow step back, “I’ve also rather overlooked you, I feel. Yet another unfortunate thing that Intra and Abextra have in common and should fix as soon as time allows.”

And the Doctor _laughs_ , still propping the slowly smiling Richard up as he sluggishly bleeds…

And she starts to smile herself. Only slightly, yes. And timidly, _yes_ … But happily, as she takes a bright step towards Viola and boldly snaps open the cuffs.

(And she’s only a pathetic puff of wind and smoke, in the end. Just wind and smoke and _nothing_ more.)


	6. Home

“I’ll almost miss you, you know.”

It’s a week later, a week after going down into those dark caves and facing those dark monsters and realizing that the word ‘dark’ is really rather overused, and they’re finally back where it all started. In the jungle, standing in front of an ordinary looking blue box with the world rustling back to normal around them.

…Well, a better sort of normal.

“Almost,” the Doctor, still hovering close to Richard’s (a little paler, now in a sling, still _alive_ ) side, snorts – shakes his head as if he _expected_ all sarcasm, “that’s a fine bit of gratitude: considering that we reunited two warring societies, figured out your monster problem and stopped many innocent people from being slaughtered then _eaten_.”

“We did that ourselves,” she tuts, arching a stern eyebrow-

“Indeed you did,” Richard, as ever, takes her sting away with a fond smile – gently nudges the Doctor’s side in a clear hint to be _nice_ , “and, for what it’s worth, I’m going to miss you too. You and your sarcasm and sharpness and stubborn determination to do everything for yourself.”

She makes a face at him, he makes a face back.

…She steps forward and hugs him. Perhaps a touch too tightly, for she’s never been that good at hugs, but she can do nothing less, “take care of yourself.”

“I will,” and he hugs back just as hard, anyway, keeps his good arm tight even as he whispers in her ear, “as long as you do the same.”

She laughs, not at _all_ wetly… Steps back and arches her eyebrow at the now silent Doctor, challenging him to say something inappropriate and utterly moment-killing.

“…I, personally, won’t miss your sarcasm or sharpness or absurd stubbornness,” and he lives up to the expectation almost _instantly_ , just as _she_ expected, “and, for the record, you _didn’t_ do it all by yourself: you were helped by Hina and Lily and Aurore and Richard and-“

The last man in question jabs him in the ribs again.

But she can take care of herself, and her eyebrow is already raising, “charming.”

“You did do a lot yourself, though” …Actually charming. As he gives her a faint smile, and a tiny nod, and a little crinkle of his eyes, “and I suppose, overall, that I’ll miss _you_ \- and will regret that I won’t be able to see all the great things that you’ll do.”

…Oh, damn. Her smile is faintly watery now.

And she tries to move in for a handshake, but is awkwardly blocked by the Doctor’s other hand. And tries to move in for another, but encounters the same problem _again_. And, in the end, just lunges in and hugs him as tightly as Richard - squeezing and squeezing until she can hear him wheezing in her ear.

“Take care of yourself too,” she hisses in his ear, and steps back so suddenly that he stumbles, “because, you know, having to skip across the universe just to whack you would be very irritating.”

“Indeed,” he gasps, massaging his lungs.

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

And Richard just _laughs_ \- watching them both like they’re disobedient five year olds.

“…Goodbye, then.”

“Goodbye,” until the Doctor has to say _that_ in turn, and step back until his hand rests right on the blue box’s door, “and good luck.”

She laughs, it rings a little flat but she _means_ it, “I won’t need it.”

“Sure you won’t.”

“Nope!” Richard laughs at them both again.

…And then they both step away, with one final wave. And slowly slide into the blue box with lingering glances, the door clicking softly shut behind them.

She jumps at the _noise_ , the terribly strange thing, the box makes as it disappears… But holds her position, keeps her chin high, watches and watches until every trace is gone and she’s just standing in an empty clearing: no Doctor, no Richard, life back to utterly and absolutely normal yet again.

…Well.

“Are they gone?” Lily asks timidly, stepping forwards from the trees. Her eyes slightly redder than usual but her face firm - her new uniform crisp as she stands to attention.

“Nah, they’ve just turned invisible,” Hina snorts, stepping forwards to cheerfully whack her arm, “what do you _think_?”

“I was just _asking_ -“

“Can’t you start _trusting_?”

“I thought you said that trusting was bad!”

A better sort of normal. As she smiles, blinks the faint tears from her eyes and turns firmly upon her heel, “I thought I brought you both out here on the condition that you _wouldn’t_ argue. Do I have to threaten demotion _again_?”

“…No, Miss Aferdita.”

“ _No, Miss Aferdita_.”

“Hey!”

…She sighs, grabs both of her new deputies and walks away with an ever so bright smile upon her face.

 

\--

 

The moment the TARDIS doors shut behind them the Doctor gives him an odd little smirk – strides to the console with a few sharp steps, taps in the coordinates and gives everything an extra (mysterious) whack with the hammer before he turns around again.

“…What-?” He starts to ask slowly, still cradling the aching weight of his arm in the sling.

“Go,” the Doctor says, almost gently (which is quite an achievement for a man like him) “…Rest, I mean. I’ve set the coordinates for Bosworth Field. You have enough time for a nap before we get there.”

“Oh,” Bosworth Field. Earth. _Home_ … Odd how far away it feels. The world of churned mud and green trees and drab skies even in the middle of August, “I thought this was a time machine. That she could get there instantly-?”

“She can, technically,” the Doctor makes a face, “but… Wibbly-wobly timey-wimey.”

“…Right,” he agrees, though he understands pretty much _nothing_ of that, “but a nap won’t be enough to fix my arm-“

The Doctor makes another face, “just trust in the TARDIS.”

“…But-“

“ _Trust_ in her,” The Doctor’s face appears to have frozen in the wind. He rolls his eyes and clucks his tongue in the least attractive way possible, “honestly, I forgot how obnoxious you were. I thought having your arm almost broken would fix that but _no_ …”

He waits for a long moment, until the Doctor glances back at him. Raises his eyebrow pointedly.

“…I don’t mean that,” watches the Doctor’s faint smile before he turns away again, the one he hides with a quick hand, “just go rest, Richard. I wouldn’t have you going to battle like _this_ on my conscience.”

Aw, how-

…Battle.

Battle.

“…I’ll see you when we land, then,” he says slowly, starting to stroll towards the magical mystery door (the one that leads to the rest of the TARDIS.)

“Yes.”

“And then it’s goodbye.”

“…Yes.”

He hesitates for a moment, perching on the lip of the stairs with the Doctor still turned away behind him and the TARDIS humming merrily in his ears…

Opens the door, and only looks back a thousand times as he ambles his way inwards.

 

\--

 

But, no matter how hard he tries, he _can’t_ rest: there are too many thoughts in his head. Buzzing and buzzing there like a thousand wasps roused after winter.

The place he’s left behind hums at the front of his skull: Intra, Abextra, the two of them meshing into one. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the high spires of the underground city, the luxurious mansions of the above one. He wonders if Aferdita is managing to combine the two easily, wonders if Hina and Lily are settling into their new jobs, wonders if Viola is still sitting as she was when he saw her last – staring at nothing with a blank look on her face.

Even worse than that are the whispers that follow: the thoughts of Bosworth Field, of earth, of _home_. He turns on his side but they still chase after him: the image of churned mud, the sound of _humans_ babbling, the very vague feeling of home. He worries if Bosworth will still seem the limit of the universe when he steps back onto it, worries over how he can barely remember what another human face looks like, worries that he’s not sure if he’ll actually be returning home or _leaving_ home after all this.

And finally, finally – and worst of all, he thinks of _battle_ …

And he rises. Throws back on his clothes. Clears his throat and strides out into the corridor because he can’t a single moment more in that prison of a room.

His feet find the library easier than he ever thought they would. He lingers for a second before sighing: Pressing his hands against the ancient wood, entering with a _whoosh_ and a puff of air that is almost welcoming (maybe the TARDIS senses that he can’t rest, maybe she’s _helping_ him in some strange way).

He strolls, aimlessly through the books, until he finds himself back at the history section. Where he was dragged from (not too) long ago. He smiles as he spots ‘The Unification of Abinextra’, almost reaches for it with a proud hand…

And halts.

As he sees his own book again. Battered. Old. Sticking slightly out of the shelf where he left it the last time. Almost calling to him in some strange way.

He hesitates-

(Battle…)

He hesitates for only a second. Before he leans down, arm protesting all the way, and grabs it from the shelf. Walks over to a nearby chair with a firm back and a raised chin.

He sits down.

…He opens the book. And starts to read.

 

\--

 

The only noise when he finally halts in his capering is the soft buzz of the TARDIS: her console ever so gently humming as he gives a careful, can never be too careful, glance around and leans slowly into her.

“We’ve done a good job, old girl,” he muses softly, gives an extra pat and feels her pleased rumble under his fingertips “…A good job.”

For they have: worlds saved, societies enlightened, friends made, lives improved, Richard the Third-!

…Richard.

He glances up at the slow path to Bosworth, closes his eyes briefly… Draws in a deep breath and strides around to the other side of the TARDIS without a single thought more! It doesn’t _matter_ , after all-!

…It doesn’t matter.

The battle tomorrow, the death and the blood and the sharp change of absolutely _everything_ , _doesn’t_ matter at-

…He halts, rests his hands on the TARDIS, closes his eyes again and takes in more deep breaths that make absolutely no difference at all. Tries to ignore the _sickly_ , the traitorous, shake trembling deep within his stomach because he can’t change anything and can’t fix anything and, really, is far, _far_ too busy-!

Almost braining himself on a mysterious overhang as a soft throat clears behind him. Spinning around so fast that whiplash seems _more_ than the likely result, “ _What_ -?”

“Hi” …As Richard stands there. A resigned look on his face, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

(…It does matter. It matters more than he ever thought it would.)

“What are you doing here?” He manages softly, feeling like he’s choking on air, “aren’t you supposed to be resting? Big battle tomorrow, after all, big battle with big people and big pretenders to defeat and-“

“Later” …He halts. Watches mutely as Richard takes a slow step closer, looks down for only the briefest moment, “I know that I said I wanted to go home, and I know that there’s no way I could abandon my army on the eve of a battle, and I know- I know that I _have_ to return. That there’s no possibly way to avoid it.”

…He remains silent.

“But later,” as Richard looks up, stares at him so firmly that his breath is taken away, “ _later_. We could go anywhere in the universe before then, anywhere in time, anywhere and _everywhere_. We could go to planets with five suns and a billion moons, to spaceships where green people dance, to meet my ancestors and mock them to their faces. We could sip from so many cups, sing so many songs, learn so many dances. We could get into strange marriages, almost get eaten by alien dogs, accidentally get voted into alien governments. We could have a thousand adventures, a million stories, a _billion_ lives lived… While we still have time to live them.”

…He’s seen his future.

“And get back in time for tea,” and still continues, with his chin held high, “in time for… Everything. Absolutely everything.”

He’s _seen_ his _future_ -

…He presses his hand against the warmth of the only woman for him, watches Richard with his mind whirling, “where would we go?”

“Weren’t you listening?” The mocking is nervous, shaky… Strong, ever so strong, “ _anywhere_. I don’t care.”

…His future.

The death, the destruction, the disrespect, the lies, the stories, the endless history books all using certain words (written by the man he based his looks on) as fact, the reputation that has grown up around him, the _hatred_ directed at him, the fact that all his achievements were reduced to ash with one simple stab of a sword…

His _future_.

…And yet.

He turns fully back to the console, barely thinks before he starts tapping away – fingers flickering faster than they ever have before.

Richard jerks behind him as the TARDIS sways, narrowly manages to keep his balance (an achievement with his arm) as he staggers up with ever so wide eyes, “Doctor?”

“Mm?” He barely glances back.

“Where are we going-?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Barely glances back again, barely beams as wide as possible, _barely_ starts dancing as his ship sways and they stagger and everything _shoots_ into the unknowable vortex so terrifying and strange and absolutely _glorious_ , “anywhere, my dearest Richard the Third. _Anywhere_ at all!”

…Anywhere at all.

And there’s only the universe ahead.


End file.
